


There's No Place Like Home

by nightmares06, PL1



Series: Brothers Lost [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Borrower Sam, Family, Family Visit, GT, Gen, Greek - Freeform, Greek Food, Home, Poker, Road Trip, Size Difference, The Impala - Freeform, Tiny Dean, Tiny sam, Traveling, borrower dean, g/t writing, pocket dean, pocket sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: The newly-minted team of hunters runs into some downtime between cases. Sam and Dean Winchester, cursed to live at a fraction of their original height, agree to a new trip with Jacob; this time on the road home to reassure his mom he’s still alive and kicking.An uninvited guest throws this family reunion into a mess, and suddenly Jacob’s left alone to piece together what happened…





	1. Poker Face

Jacob considered his options. He was still new at this, even after more than a month, and with a couple easy, salt-and-burn hunts behind him. He was getting better at everything that came with his new lifestyle all the time.  
  
First and foremost was the feel he now had for what might make Sam or Dean gripe at him.  
  
He waited patiently as Sam dragged cards barely shorter than him off the top of the deck, one at a time, and dealt them out to the three of them. At least Texas Hold 'Em only required two cards per player; dealing wasn't such a daunting prospect for Sam or Dean.  
  
Jacob only helped with the shuffling when it was their turn to deal. Other than that, they took care of handing out the cards on their own, regardless of the fact that it took them a bit of extra time to do so. The cards were bulky, but the little guys managed, despite the fact that the cards were almost the same size as Dean.  
  
He decided that he shouldn’t offer to help. The first time he'd suggested it, he was met with a scathing glare from the small hunter. This would be no different.  
  
It wasn't a matter of what was convenient or fast, in their eyes. Sometimes, the game could take a delay of a few seconds so the brothers could do something on their own, and Jacob wasn't one to deny them that. They might be small, but they prized their independence more than anything aside from their small matching knives.  
  
So he calmly sat there while Sam dealt out the cards.  
  
Jacob had volunteered his many quarters meant for laundry and phone calls to their game. He and Dean already had their blind bets in, ready for the game to begin. The real goal was to teach Jacob how to bluff. The betting here wouldn't go very far with the chips being his quarters, but if he wanted to win anything at the bars to get some good old fashioned cash, an untraceable resource, he needed to learn to bluff better.  
  
And, as Dean had been very disappointed to discover, Jacob was an absolutely _terrible_ liar.  
  
"Y'know, Dean, with all this poker practice, you guys are gonna leave me with no pocket change," Jacob pointed out with a smirk as he picked up the two cards Sam dealt him. Ace Jack. A good start before he even saw the first cards on the board.  
  
Dean held his face expressionless as he listened to Jacob’s words, checking out his own cards. For him, it was a more involved process than just picking them up in his hands. Sam stood half an inch taller than the cards, but Dean wasn’t even a third of an inch taller. They were lightweight, but bulky in his hands. The thick, coated paper was coarse as he lifted it to read the red letters that told him his card.  
  
Dropping that card down, he lifted up the second and arched an eyebrow. “Maybe that’ll have to be your incentive,” Dean said dryly. “You’ll have to come to _us_ if you want to do your laundry.”  
  
Next to Dean was his own growing pile of quarters. John Winchester and Bobby Singer had taken the time to teach him how to bluff his way through the game years back, and he’d mastered the art. Helping him was the fact that if he had any tells, Jacob would have a much harder time reading them from his towering vantage. Sam was probably the only person that was adept enough to know when his older brother was talking out his ass, which was the reason he had his _own_ growing pile of quarters, leaving Jacob’s dwindling down.  
  
If everything went according to plan, Dean would have a pile of quarters that stood taller than he did, sooner rather than later.  
  
Sam dealt himself his last hole card, and he took his time peering underneath the cards before anything else happened. He tried to emulate his big brother with bluffing, but wasn’t as good as it yet. Both of them were way better than Jacob, however. Adding together his size plus how terrible a liar he was meant they both had an easy time reading the planes of his face.  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes, but he knew it was probably only a matter of time before he ran out of coins for the game and had to call it a night. "Hey, at least I'm doing better than last game," he argued, gesturing to his modest stash of quarters. While it was the worst of the three of them, he had actually managed to win a hand or two and stay in the game longer.  
  
He'd been trying to do better about hiding any reactions to the cards as they appeared on the board, but he'd never had a compelling reason to lie well. It was a sharp contrast with Dean and Sam's skill levels, honed from a life of living off-the-grid. Secrets kept them alive.  
  
Dean had never been easy for Jacob to read. He could recognize annoyed glares and sarcastic smiles, but when Dean wanted to keep his thoughts hidden from sight, it was impossible for Jacob to figure them out. Sam, though far less intense than Dean, was equally difficult to read when he wanted to be, taking after his older brother in so many ways.  
  
Both of them were so guarded after spending almost a decade and a half hidden away in the walls. It was second nature to play everything closer to the vest, and it made them poker _sharks._ Jacob should have seen it coming the moment Dean suggested he pick up a deck of cards at a pit stop.  
  
He waited for Sam to call the blind bets, and then pushed one quarter to the center of the table with the rest. "Call," he muttered, glancing to Dean to see if the eldest player would raise the bet before the first cards were laid out.  
  
Dean met Jacob’s glance with his own customary smirk, letting himself emanate nothing but confidence. It didn’t matter that Jacob was massive and could cover him up with one hand; Dean would challenge anyone regardless of his size. He took two quarters from his pile, walking them over to the center. If he was a little taller, his leather jacket and confident swagger would have been at home in a poker tournament. All he was missing was an icy cold mug of beer in his hands.  
  
“Raise,” he declared, tossing the two coins in with a clatter of metal.  
  
Sam bit his lip as he considered his own options, peering at his cards one last time. “Call,” he decided, matching Dean’s bet and pushing the quarters in. He didn’t give off the same sense of confidence as his big brother.  
  
During the game, their bags were sitting together off to the side, their hooks visible and hanging out. They’d decided to relax for the night. After spending two months with Jacob around, it was easier to relax around him and spend the night like a couple of regular guys.  
  
Or, at least, regular guys who were small enough to stand on the table and were only slightly bigger than the cards they were playing with. Jacob at least put in effort not to make them feel small. He listened to their voices instead of trying to drown them out, and more often than not he avoided looming when he could. Dean may have decided to call him ‘Godzilla’, but Jacob was as mellow as a person could be.  
  
Jacob frowned faintly, as always wary about a raise before the first cards were revealed, but his cards were decent. He added his own two extra quarters to the pot, begrudgingly calling to see the cards.  
  
With the bets in, Sam left his cards on their own to deal out the flop. He carefully took the top card, leaving that facedown on the table. Then he proceeded to lay out three faceup cards, all in a row.  
  
 _Four ... Nine ... Jack._ Jacob glanced at his own cards again after noting the three cards Sam had revealed. He had a Jack in his hand, giving him the top pair on the board. After a moment, he rapped his knuckles on the table. "Check." He was almost positive that Dean would have told him to raise, but Jacob thought he'd wait and see what the others bet.  
  
Sometimes, it would sneak up on him how strange his lifestyle had become. Jacob was playing Texas Hold 'Em in a little motel room with two brothers that fit in his pocket. Both _older_ than he was. His first reaction of open fascination had worn off since he met them, but their size was still amazing to think about. They'd survived like that for so long, scraping to get by. Though he stood around twenty times their size, Jacob looked up to the Winchesters for their sheer grit and determination to survive in a world too large for them.  
  
At the very least, signs of their sparse living were starting to disappear. Hanging out with Jacob meant access to regular food, which of course meant filling out their thin frames. Dean especially had needed it, so it was lucky that he took to the food Jacob offered with enthusiasm. A lot more enthusiasm than Sam, far more reserved and shy, had ever shown.  
  
The brothers might be able to read his poker face like a book, but Jacob had his own observation skills. He'd been able to piece together that Sam honed in on the healthier food options in contrast to Dean's preference for hearty, meaty foods. He'd learned that Sam was content with a book when research had to be done, where Dean itched to get right to the action.  
  
And, of course, both of them could be competitive when they sighted a challenge. "Whatcha got, Dean?" Jacob asked, grinning at the miniature hunter whose turn it was to bet.  
  
Dean gave him a confident grin back, completely comfortable with the human despite the way he'd caused a slight earthquake under their boots when he'd rapped his knuckles against the surface. There was no harm meant, and really, they both appreciated the way he acted like they were just any other people. Just regular guys hanging out, regardless of size.  
  
Sam was only spared a slight glance as Dean walked his way back to the pot. The younger Winchester looked more harried than Dean did, comparatively. He checked his cards again, sizing up the three cards in the center.  
  
“I'll bet,” Dean said with a smirk at Jacob. He tossed his two quarters into the center.  
  
Sam's turn was more subdued. “Call,” he said, matching Dean's bet.  
  
Dean gave Jacob a snarky grin. “So, how about it, Godzilla?”  
  
Jacob smiled back, though he was thinking carefully. He had yet to figure out what Dean's bluffing face looked like, if he even had one. He kept everything so guarded. He could be sitting there with pocket aces or complete garbage and Jacob wouldn't know. It didn’t help that his face was roughly the size of a fingerprint. Jacob hardly even knew what color either brother’s eyes were, because they were so small and he didn’t dare get close enough to try to see. It would be uncomfortable for all involved.  
  
Jacob's hand hovered over his dwindling pile of quarters. Dean, with more winnings in his corner, could afford to be frivolous. Jacob couldn't really, so he weighed the option heavily before sighing and adding two quarters to the pot. "Godzilla calls," he quipped.  
  
Regardless of whether he won the game or not, Jacob enjoyed himself. He was technically supposed to be learning valuable bluffing skills, but aside from that, the simple competition was fun. He hadn't been around the same people for an extended length of time in a while; his drifter lifestyle before finding the brothers didn't often give him the time to make lasting friendships. It always gladdened him to notice that they seemed relaxed around him despite his size. He'd come a long way.  
  
Sam internally rolled his eyes at the way Dean and Jacob were egging each other on, going back to the deck to deal out the next card. He put the first card facedown again, followed by flipping up a fourth card for the center. Aside from dealing out the cards, he had no intention of pulling attention his way, knowing how focused Dean could get on a single opponent. It was a fault Jacob hadn’t seemed to notice.  
  
After years of being on their own, Sam was used to the single-minded competitiveness Dean could get himself worked up into. It was especially inconvenient during any prank wars they had amongst themselves, like the time Sam’s shampoo had been replaced with Nair as a kid.  
  
He held a hand up to his hair instinctively at that thought, glad that the long locks were still in place, and waited for Jacob to make his move. If Dean wanted to try a prank like that again, he was going to need help from Jacob, so Sam comforted himself that his hair was safe. Jacob didn’t seem like the type to get too involved in elaborate pranks.  
  
Jacob glanced over each card on the board, lingering on the new one Sam flipped over. A queen. Jacob's pair of jacks was in jeopardy, but he had an ace in the hole, too. He could stick to it for another round, so he tapped his fingers on the table again with an echoing sound that resounded under the brothers’ handcrafted leather boots. "Check."  
  
The basics of the game had come back to him quickly, but Jacob had yet to win a game against either Sam or Dean. They always managed to steal away his quarters, either bit by bit or by bluffing him into thinking he had a good hand. He was trying to be cautious, but he couldn't watch their faces for tells very easily from his vantage point.  
  
He'd be way too obvious if he tried to lean closer and get a better look.  
  
The end result was Jacob playing it safe, even when he still had decent cards. He was always a more defensive person, rather than the type to push; it was a stark contrast that had been exploited a number of times by Dean.  
  
Of course, Dean couldn’t just let the turn pass him by. “Bet,” he declared once more, musing that a simple game of poker was certainly giving him a workout as he walked two more quarters to the center of the table. It was a lot more work than he remembered to just check his cards or toss his money in the pot.  
  
Sam was frowning, but he followed up the bet with his own coins. He was more like Jacob when playing, at least in terms of playing it safe. The years of living out of sight had made him hard to read, much like Dean, and that was helped by the height difference between himself and the human.  
  
Dean, naturally, was too busy with Jacob to pay any mind to Sam’s tells.  
  
Jacob's mouth twisted into a frown, but he knew better than to think Dean would let the hand check around to all three of them. It wouldn't make any progress, after all. Jacob was tempted to fold just to spite him, but he begrudgingly nudged two more quarters over to the pot. "You must be getting bored, trying to push me outta the running here."  
  
He leaned on his elbow while Sam quietly placed another card in the burn pile before flipping over the river card. It was a ten. Jacob glanced down at his cards, disappointed that his ace hadn't gotten him much, but he still had the pair of jacks. It was decent.  
  
"Check," he said, not bothering to tap the table this time. With a smirk in Dean's direction, he asked "So how much to see your cards?" waiting for yet another raise.  
  
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Jacob. “Oh, mister tough guy thinks he knows me. I think I’ll… check.”  
  
Sam had to work to hide a smile at that. Dean was just being contrary to spite Jacob, just the way he’d thought. They were both too caught up in watching and goading each other on throughout the game to pay any mind to their dealer, and he was planning on making them suffer for it. He couldn’t just sit quietly to the side _all_ the time, after all.  
  
“Check,” Sam said, following up Dean’s declaration. Mirroring his big brother’s moves left him out of the line of fire, just the way he liked it.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows, smirking. It was the only true gamble he'd made so far. He had an even chance of Dean checking just to spite him, or proving him right by raising the bet once again. Either way, Jacob would consider it a success.  
  
It was time for them to reveal their cards and see the damage done. Jacob set his down in front of himself, pushing the jack forward slightly for emphasis. "I got a pair of jacks, ace kicker," he announced, glancing over the board once more to make sure he hadn't missed anything.  
  
“Not bad,” Dean said with a laugh. He used his boot to flip over his card, revealing his hand. “Pair of tens. Looks like you might actually end up ahead for once.”  
  
Neither of them expected it when Sam triumphantly tossed over his two cards, proudly showing off the hand he’d been hiding the entire time without letting it show. “Three queens,” he said with a glint in his eye.   
  
“Looks like you _both_ got played.”

* * *

**SUPERNATURAL**

* * *


	2. A New Destination

The shock didn’t wear off of Dean’s face at first, finding it hard to believe he’d _completely_ missed the threat Sam posed to his winnings. “Well I’ll be damned, Sammy. You’ve been sitting on a gold mine the entire time.”  
  
"Well, shit." The words dropped out of Jacob's mouth with about as much surprise as Dean. He perked up, no longer propped casually on his elbow, but leaning just enough to see Sam's pocket pair of queens without any glare on them. Sam had managed to keep both Jacob and Dean unaware of his advantage the entire time. The little guy was as sly as his older brother.  
  
"You just got six bucks off us!" Jacob pointed out with a grin, absently nudging all the coins into a closer pile before retrieving the cards laid out. A quick glance between the pot and what Sam had already collected showed that he might have inched his way into the lead. His pile of quarters might end up standing taller than he did.  
  
"Wow, I'm not even upset, that's impressive. You told both of us," Jacob said as he stacked the cards in preparation to shuffle them.  
  
Jacob's supply of quarters was dismal now compared to what Sam or Dean had pulled in. He usually kept a lot on hand to do his laundry, or occasionally call home. He guessed he'd have enough left for one load of laundry and one call to his mom if he quit playing now.  
  
The thought brought an idea to his head. Jacob had been traveling back and forth across the Midwest with Sam and Dean for a while, in Dean's old '67 Chevy Impala. All poker failures aside, he'd learned a lot. They'd all kept pretty busy since they set out. The brothers threw their all into any job they found, and Jacob did the same, admiring their determination despite the drawbacks life had thrown their way.  
  
"Hey, guys, I was just thinkin,’ ” he began, shuffling the cards once before splitting the deck once more. "It's been a while since I visited home. How would you feel about a little trip to Iowa?" After a pause, he shuffled again and shrugged, not wanting to pressure them. "It's totally cool if you don't want to. We can look for another case instead."  
  
Dean glanced up from helping Sam pile up his winnings, his gaze caught for a second by the sight of the deck of cards almost vanishing into Jacob’s massive hands while he shuffled. It was almost mesmerizing to see them handled by the teenager. They were only a little shorter than Dean was, after all. He’d vanish into those hands just as easily.  
  
With a shrug, Dean went back to stacking the coins. Sam’s pile was already chest-high for them, and the coins were getting heavier to hold, but he couldn’t help but be just as curious as Jacob to see how high it would go. “Family’s important,” he said firmly. “I’m sure when we want to head back to _Trails West_ to check on Walt and Mallory, you won’t have a problem takin’ us. You do what you have to, and we’ll be around for support. We might get to see the brave mom that raised up Godzilla, after all.” He pursed his lips. “ ‘Course, if you get to meet our adopted family, you might have your hands full if Walt ever finds out how we met. I doubt we’ll run into much trouble with yours. All we gotta do is keep out of sight.”  
  
That would be a hell of a lot simpler than ever trying to keep _Jacob_ out of sight. Dean doubted he’d ever had a good run in hide and seek, standing almost head and shoulders over anyone else, and broad to boot. The guy was massive compared to other _humans,_ never mind people the size of Sam and Dean’s family. In the time they’d known him since his first startling encounter, he’d earned more than a little trust. Every time they put themselves in his hands, they had to trust that he wouldn’t use his size against them. Except for that very first meeting, Jacob had not disappointed them.  
  
Jacob brightened, a smile lighting up his eyes. Not only was Dean trusting Jacob to bring the two brothers around other humans, but he'd even suggested he might meet their adopted parents someday. The trust in him didn't feel deserved sometimes, especially considering 'how they met' involved a lot of grabbing and Dean spending time trapped helplessly in a coffee pot while Jacob tried to get some straight answers out of him.  
  
"That's ... yeah, great! Mom's a damn good cook, too, so you guys will have to try some Greek food," he said, setting down the deck of cards to cut it and shuffle it one more time.  
  
Jacob enjoyed his life on the road. He'd helped people in the last several weeks hunting the supernatural with Sam and Dean. It was a worthy way to spend his days, but even drifters missed home once in awhile, and he knew for certain that his mom would be happy to have him visit. She'd most likely try to convince him to find a job close enough to stay for a month or two, though Jacob had a feeling that the two miniature hunters on the table would have a drive to get going again long before that could happen. They were determined to hunt and find their father, and now that they had a way to travel, nothing was going to hold them back from those goals.  
  
"Thanks, guys. I'll make sure no one spots you. And you can let me know if there're any cool secrets inside the walls of my house, eh?" He grinned and dealt out new cards for the three of them, setting their cards near their piles of coins to avoid crowding their personal space with hands bigger than their entire bodies.  
  
Jacob’s enthusiasm was infectious to the other two, pushing away the lingering worries they had of being around unknown humans for an indefinite period of time. They knew how to stay out of sight, after all. It was how they’d lived for years before meeting him, and Sam was especially adept at it with his knack.  
  
Sam grinned up at Jacob as he put the last of his winnings in the pile of quarters, topping off his pile at just a hair taller than he was. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t trust you to watch out for us.”  
  
Dean stalked over to his own cards, ready to go. “And if there’s anything in your walls, we’ll find it. We can’t have anyone but _us_ running off with your stuff, after all.”  
  
Jacob chuckled and rolled his eyes at the odd statement, picking up his cards for the continuation of the game. His mind was already miles away.  
  


* * *

  
The following afternoon, the Impala pulled into a small, quiet Iowa town just far enough away from Des Moines not to be a suburb. The growl of the engine preceded her, and Jacob was amazed he didn't have people peeking out their windows to see who was making all the noise. It wasn’t often a car like the Impala came down this street. It was likely everyone was in the city at work, still, and that went for his stepdad, too.  
  
When he parked the car across the street from his mom's house, he spied her car in the driveway. She was home. There were well-tended flowerbeds in front of the house, and a colorful spring wreath decorating the front door. He smiled at the sight, realizing how much he’d missed home after being gone for so long. Wave after wave of memories tugged at him in a sweeping tide of nostalgia.  
  
Before he got out of the car to go and greet his mom, however, Jacob turned his eyes to the rearview mirror to address his shoulder passengers. "You guys'll probably wanna hide in my hood for a bit," he warned with a sheepish grin. "I'm not gonna be able to get past her to drop you guys off in my room at first."  
  
Dean took a deep breath before standing up. He was on Jacob’s right shoulder, and Sam was over on the left. It had become their usual spots to survey the world from, since from there it was easy to give Jacob direction if he needed it (or if Dean decided he needed it anyway).  
  
“Just don’t forget we’re back here,” Dean said dryly. Once they were hidden, they’d have to rely on Jacob letting them know when it was safe to show their faces again. Dean hitched up his duffel before dropping off of the shoulder and out of sight. The dark folds rushed up at him as he slid down the slope of Jacob’s back, catching his fall in a rocking hammock of fabric. He was doing a lot better with heights in the last few months, and the brief sensation of freefall didn’t affect him like it might have in the past.  
  
Sam slid down the other side, barely able to avoid crashing into Dean. They both glanced upwards to watch the roof of the car change to blue skies as Jacob climbed out of the Impala. They didn’t even bother with their usual griping at each other over the amount of space they had in the hood, too concerned with the fact that in less than a minute, they’d be near another human.  
  
Jacob stood next to the Impala for an extra second, making sure he didn't hear any sounds of alarm from his hood. His excitement to be home had to be tempered with the same caution he’d had for the last few months. He couldn’t risk hurting his small mentors. With Sam and Dean still and keeping quiet, he started the short trek towards his home, as careful as he always was with two people the size of a finger in his hood.  
  
He didn't even lift his hand all the way to knock on the front door before it opened, and there stood his mother. Mariana Andris had most of her bouncy curls tied hastily, though several escapees framed her face. She was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans with patches of dirt on them and an old t-shirt. The outfit combined with the smudge of dirt on one of her round cheeks told Jacob that she'd chosen today to work in the backyard.  
  
Confusion about who had arrived morphed rapidly into a bright smile, wide with dimples that matched Jacob's own, and she threw the door open all the way to admit her son into the house.  
  
A noise caught in her throat, something like a delighted squeal. "Oh my _God,_ Jacob, I didn't know you were coming!" she exclaimed, before opening her arms and beckoning impatiently to him.  
  
Jacob had to stoop to wrap his arms around his petite mother, easily more than a foot shorter than he was. "Hey, mom," he greeted her with a grin. It became clear why it wouldn't be a good idea for Sam and Dean to be on Jacob's shoulders even if they could conceal themselves. They'd have fallen right off, and that wasn’t taking into consideration Mariana’s startled reaction to seeing _people_ on her son’s shoulders. In the best case scenario, she’d shriek in surprise, which was a worst case scenario for their tiny eardrums.  
  
Before she released him, she planted a kiss on each of his cheeks, then clasped her hands in front of herself. She looked like a little kid on Christmas; Jacob wondered if he should have tried to visit sooner.  
  
"Mike's gonna be so happy to hear you're staying," she started, and Jacob saw the look in her eyes. She was already planning dinner for the night. "I think we even have an unopened bottle of ouzo around here we can break that out, and later we'll all catch up and-- what is _that?_ "  
  
Jacob gave a start, praying fervently that one of the brothers hadn’t climbed up to his shoulder to peek at the goings-on, then looked behind him to follow her surprised gaze. The Impala gleamed in the mid afternoon sun, kept in tip top shape at Dean's (constant) behest. The monstrous car rivaled some of the hardy trucks parked in the neighborhood’s driveways.  
  
He chuckled. "Oh, that's ... it actually belongs to a friend of mine. I helped him fix it up a couple months back, you remember the scrapyard job? He's letting me drive it so it doesn't just sit around."  
  
"Well, good for you, and don't you dare take it back to him looking like your car," Mariana warned with a grin.   
  
Jacob sighed and rolled his eyes, looking very put-upon. "Yes, mom," he answered, stepping the rest of the way into the house to close the door before flies buzzed in. _As if I could._ "Looks like you were working on something," he pointed out.  
  
She nodded, and her ponytail of curls bounced with her exuberance. "Yes, I don't mean to be all over the place but I _was_ putting in baby plants," she smiled sheepishly.   
  
Jacob waved it off. "It's okay ... I might, uh, nap for a bit. Long drive and stuff."  
  
She chuckled at him and reached up a hand to pat his cheek teasingly. "So long as you don't sleep through dinner," she warned him, before letting him trudge up the stairs to his room.  
  
It was tidier than he usually kept it, as he noticed right away when he closed the door behind himself. The bed in the corner was made, the desk and dresser surfaces bore no dust, and there wasn't any laundry on the floor. Jacob took a deep breath, noting the familiar smell of home in the air. It was good to be back.  
  
"Okay, guys, you're clear," he said. "She'll be busy with those plants for a bit."  
  
Sam was first out, climbing his way up. He stretched his arms, amused at the exchange between Jacob and his mom. “She seems nice,” he said brightly, glad that their arrival had gone so smooth. Mariana didn’t know they were around and Jacob had managed to give a good reason for driving the Impala instead of his Mercury that waited loyally back at Bobby’s. He technically hadn’t even needed to lie, which wasn’t a strong skill of his based on his poker bluffing game.  
  
The brothers were nervous about visiting a new house, and one where people went in and out of all the rooms on a regular basis, a huge difference from the motel. Aside from the maids, people stayed in their own rooms and didn’t meander between them. Here, any one of the residents could have an excuse to be in any one of the rooms, and the brothers didn’t know the routine at all. Knowing the habits of the humans was a driving motivation to anyone living in the walls. Nervous or not, Sam and Dean would never refuse Jacob a chance to see his family.  
  
After all, family was something to be cherished, in their eyes.  
  
They’d lost their mother as children. They’d been separated from their father years later, and now had no way of reaching him. Even the phone numbers that Bobby had given them were out of service. Walt and Mallory had raised them as their own, and either brother would do anything for them. At the end of the day, Sam and Dean were low on close family aside from each other. They would always watch out for each other.  
  
Dean huffed on the other side as he hauled himself out. “I heard something about dinner?” he asked. “And… ouzo? Is that a drink? We could use a drink.” He had focused right on the part of the conversation that concerned him the most.  
  
Jacob grinned and poorly held back a snicker. He did feel bad for subjecting the brothers to the greeting by his mother, but it was better than them being seen. She would have taken a lot of convincing that everything was perfectly fine if she spotted either brother, and in the meantime it'd just put a lot of stress on everyone involved.  
  
"Ouzo is a drink," he confirmed, setting his backpack by the door and making his way over to his bed. He sat down wearily, careful with the angle of his upper body to avoid pitching Sam and Dean over the side.  
  
After placing his hands on the edge of the dresser next to the bed, he explained, "It's a pretty strong one, too, so don't drink it fast," he said before anything else. It was hard to forget Dean's first encounter with strong liquor, even if Dean himself couldn’t quite recall all of it. The little guy had the heart of a bar veteran, but none of the tolerance.  
  
"Tastes like, uh, licorice, I guess. You're supposed to drink it with these little appetizer plates."  
  
“Awesome,” Dean said with a grin as he climbed down Jacob’s arm, trying to avoid tickling the human with his movements when he passed over more sensitive skin. As small as they were, they didn’t make much of an impression on Jacob, not even with punches or kicks, so it was best to be careful. An instinctive flinch could send them flying, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. “Trust me, I’m not repeating that morning any time soon.”  
  
Sam met Dean on the dresser, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “ _Licorice?_ ” He shuddered. “They actually make a _drink_ that tastes like that?”  
  
Dean glared at him. “ _That_ is a classic snack, almost as good as popcorn! It’s like… chewy pieces of heaven.”  
  
With a grimace, Sam replied, “That’s funny. It tastes like dirt to me, so you’ve got an interesting idea of heaven.” Candy and his childhood might be almost an entire lifetime away, but licorice had left a lasting impression on his taste buds.  
  
He stepped away from Dean, surveying Jacob’s room. The room he’d grown up in for years. A home, something they’d lost as kids and found again after their curse. Sam couldn’t help but mark any places against the wall that seemed like they’d hide concealed entrances, instinctively seeking out routes to safety if they ever needed it. Dean would be doing the same, he knew, though Sam had always had a better eye for escape routes.  
  
Dean put his hands on his hips as he scanned the room for himself. “Somehow I didn’t think your room would be so _neat,_ ” he joked up at the human.  
  
Jacob smirked. "Give me time, dude, I only just rolled in," he reminded them. Jacob personally considered his neatness to be somewhere in a happy medium. He wasn't so neat that _one thing_ out of line would bother him, and he wasn't such a slob that he left a mess wherever he went. A little clutter made things feel like home.  
  
His mother had probably tidied up in the room, multiple times, after his official move out. It was likely a guest room now, at most, but he appreciated having a bed to return to. Even if it was just barely long enough to hold his height.  
  
"Feels good to be back, though. And I'm glad you guys were up for it, considering you won all my laundry quarters off me last night." Jacob grinned, glad for more than that joking reason. The brothers had put a lot of faith in him coming here. He would have to prove that he earned it.  
  
“You can always borrow some quarters,” Sam interjected, rejoining the conversation after his brief survey of the room. “And we don’t mind visiting your home. You’re helping us track down our family. The least we can do is let you visit yours.”  
  
Distantly, he did hope that the room would get more lived in while they were around. Neat, for them, wasn’t actually the best thing. If they needed to gather supplies, it was safer to get them from a messy room. Unorganized clutter was hard to keep track of, and it was a lot less likely that their supply runs would be noticed like that.  
  
If they spent any large amount of time at the house, it would be best if the rest of the house wasn’t so immaculate either. It felt wrong to rely solely on Jacob for food and gear. It was too close to letting him take _care_ of them, and both brothers were fiercely independent, one reason that the arguments with Walt could get so loud when they disagreed.  
  
Dean exchanged a look with his younger brother. “We should find a place to stay while we’re here,” he said aloud. “That way we aren’t in the way. Maybe we’ll even have time to check out the walls while you’re eating dinner. Survey the area and see what we’ve got to work with.”  
  
Jacob grinned, looking forward to hearing their assessment of the inside of the walls. He had never once considered what it might be like in there, but he found himself imagining a huge maze of tunnels and passages for the tiny brothers to use. They could get anywhere in the house and never be seen by anyone. The parts of their lives that Jacob couldn’t see at all could be some of the most fascinating. They could navigate in near total dark without issue, and had fought rats the size of bears. They were _badass._  
  
"Alright, but just a warning. Mom keeps a junk drawer in the front hall, there's an end table ... she's got an extra sense for that thing, I swear she always knows _exactly_ what's in it. So that's not a great place to grab supplies. Everything else should be fine."  
  
If they were going to be staying in his house as his guests, it didn't matter that no one knew they were there but Jacob. He still had to make sure they had what they needed, and that included the security that no one would notice they were there.  
  
"Otherwise, you let me know if there's trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Jacob's home!
> 
> **Next:** July 7th, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	3. Bobby Loran

Much later that night, after a hearty dinner with lots of catching up and Mariana trying to convince Jacob to find work nearby, Jacob excused himself from his family. He managed to sneak away a small plate loaded with some light foods and a glass of chilled ouzo, a cloudy, almost-green drink with a bittersweet aroma.  
  
Jacob's eyes scanned the floor of his sparsely-decorated room once he closed the door. He didn't expect to find anyone there; the brothers very rarely allowed themselves to be caught out in the open like that. Even knowing that, caution was always important.  
  
"Hey, guys, you in here?" he called, taking a few steps towards the dresser and pausing to glance around and see if anyone emerged from a hiding place. "I brought you some ouzo to try if you want it, and some food if you didn't already find some."  
  


* * *

  
Up on the desk, Dean peered around the edge of the books that were piled to one side. The tremble of the floor was unmistakable as the teenager entered his room, and for a second, it flashed through Dean’s mind exactly how out of place they really were. This was Jacob’s world, and it was catered perfectly for his size (or at least, almost his size - the bed wasn’t as big as most of the motel room beds, making it a little small for the towering human).  
  
And on the flipside of the coin, Sam and Dean were standing up on the desk, concealed from view by a few books. Completely out of place, but welcome to stick around, which continued to blow Dean’s mind. Once Jacob had gotten past his first fascinated capture of the brothers, he’d put in boundless effort to make sure they knew they were welcome, and he saw them just like any other people.  
  
They’d spent the last few hours scouting out the immediate area around Jacob’s room, and had found at least one entrance into the walls not far from the dresser. Inside the dark corners of the house, the atmosphere was warmer than they’d grown used to at the motel. The dust wasn’t as bad, and their boots didn’t get caked on their hike.  
  
In fact, it wouldn’t be much work to make it livable inside the walls. Dean found himself sizing up a nook attached to Jacob’s wall, and he had to admit, it would make a better home than the one he’d worked on with Sam in _Trails West._ If they were around for long enough, it might make a good base camp for the brothers when Jacob was busy.  
  
Until then, they’d come back to Jacob’s. With his room on the second floor, it made getting downstairs a timely process, and he’d offered dinner. They might as well save the time and concentrate their efforts.  
  
A smile quirked Dean’s lips as Jacob was carefully examining the dresser and the area around his boots. They could still ninja their way around with their hulking companion none the wiser.  
  
Dean stepped out into view with Sam not far behind and waved up at Jacob to catch his attention. “You’re late with the delivery!” he joked gamely. “I think we’ll have to keep your tip.”  
  
Jacob turned, surprised to find them on the desk, but at the same time not surprised at all. He knew they could get around on their own quite handily. After last seeing them on the dresser, he'd gotten himself to expect the wrong side of the room when he returned.  
  
He smirked and made his way to the desk, attempting lighter steps so he didn't "stomp,” as Dean always said he did. "Jeez, I'm never gonna earn my cash back," he lamented, though the smile lingered on his face.  
  
He sat in the chair and set down the small (to him) plate and glass of chilled liquor. "Here we are, guys. Some _mezedes_ and ouzo. Just pretend you're close to the sea and it's a Greek experience." The plate was loaded with small cuts of sausage, soft cheese, olives, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Tourists and locals alike in Greece could expect an appetizer just like it, and Jacob’s mom kept the tradition going with their family despite being an ocean and half a continent away.  
  
"Remember, Dean, with this stuff you gotta sip it," he teased with a grin.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes grandly at the sky, hoping that Jacob would be able to see the gesture from his point of view. It was meant for him, after all. “I’m never living that down,” he grumbled to himself.  
  
“Aww, don’t say that,” Sam cooed, two tin foil cups already in his hands and a shit-eating smirk on his face that Dean knew well. He was tall enough to stand next to the tumbler glass and be able to reach, so he took it upon himself to fill up a cup for Dean. For himself, he stuck to water, having no desire to try the sickly sweet-smelling liquid. The smell alone was more than he ever wanted to experience of a _licorice_ flavored alcohol. “I’m sure you’ll manage another stunt that’s _just_ as memorable within a _week_.”  
  
Dean snatched his cup from Sam. “I can handle myself fine,” he said grouchily. His mood wasn’t destined to stay down, however. The plate of food nearby beckoned him, and he strolled over to the side that the sausage was laying on. “So, pretend we’re close to the sea?” Dean asked. “Y’know, we had one time we drove along the coast in California. I’ve never seen anything like it since.”  
  
Jacob leaned his chin on his elbow, leaving the food alone for the two standing on the desk to take their first pick of it. While everything had already been cut into small pieces, he'd cut them a little smaller so Sam and Dean could sample more if they wanted to. It was the way to drink ouzo, after all.  
  
"I bet it's really amazing," he answered. "I've never actually been to the coast before, unless you count one of the great lakes. We've got pictures around here somewhere from the times my dad was in Greece."  
  
Despite being born-and-raised American, Jacob had quite a bit of influence from his father’s side of the family across the ocean. It was, as he understood it, another Greek thing. The result was a very Americanized Greek kid who knew a lot about how they did things back home.  
  
He grinned at a sudden thought. "Hey, maybe we'll get you back in California sometime. Hollywood's bound to see a few ghosts now and then, right?"  
  
Dean sat down next to the sausage as Jacob talked, taking a whiff of his ouzo. The bittersweet fragrance gave him a shock of nostalgia, the tint of licorice in the air another smell he’d never expected to experience again.  
  
“We could always get a tour on set in Hollywood,” Dean said, going along with Jacob. “I mean, I’m sure Sammy’s _always_ wanted to meet a star from the _Gilmore Girls._ ”  
  
Sam threw him a bitchface, sitting down on the other side of the plate. He gathered up some of the cheese and fruits, sampling some of each. He was trying to be cautious with new food, remembering how it didn't settle well if they tried a lot of unknown foods, especially rich food. That was just another thing that their bodies needed to adjust to after years in the motel. A diet of crackers, occasional granola or cereal, dried fruits and whatever else they could scrounge up didn’t help build up a strong stomach.  
  
When Jacob’s attention was off him, he quietly gathered up a piece of cheese, wrapping it in a strip of fabric to save for later that night if they needed it. It was instinctive, and since they hadn’t had luck yet with finding a supply of food separate from Jacob, it was better to be prepared for anything. Sam stuck the bundle in his satchel, patting down the bag. It brought him a small iota of comfort to know he’d kept mindful of the things Walt had always told them about growing up, and even their dad before that. _Always prepared._  
  
Dean was savoring his first try of ouzo while all that was going on, impressed by the anise-enhanced flavor. “That hits the spot,” he declared. He put it down next to him and jabbed a finger at Jacob. “See? I know how to take it easy!” He snatched up a piece of sausage and started in on the appetizers Jacob had brought in, musing about how they’d turned into a full-course meal for the cursed pair.  
  
Jacob held up his hands slowly in mock surrender, somehow managing the gesture without moving too abruptly. One of the first things he'd learned about the brothers was their skittishness about his hands (which he knew was understandable after his first reaction to seeing them was to grab them back when they'd met). Faint scars from two silver knives remained on one hand to remind him what they did when they got too keyed up.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you got this all figured out," he relented, moving just as carefully to claim the rest of the glass. He wasn't about to leave that much booze around for Dean to potentially cause trouble with. The little guy could practically swim in it if he wanted to.  
  
"Okay, so, tomorrow, mom did ask me to head into Des Moines to do some shopping for her," he brought up, leaning back in his chair while he absently swirled the ice cubes in his glass. "I feel like a shitty host leaving you hanging like this but I'm guessing you don't want to go along for that? You'll pretty much have run of the place while I'm gone."  
  
Dean considered it for a moment, but there wasn’t much question of the Winchesters coming with him on a shopping trip. It meant they’d have to spend just about the entire day concealed from view on Jacob somewhere, and the only place they could use on him was the hood of his shirt. Aside from that, he had the pockets of his jeans, which looked a lot smaller and tighter, and they’d risk getting squashed, or the bottom pockets of his hoodie. Those were at least big enough, aside from the fact that it would be easy for someone to bump into Jacob, putting an end to them.  
  
“You should get yourself a shirt that has a chest pocket,” Dean recommended dryly. “Maybe we could come with ya then. But yeah. We’ll stick around, maybe get some more exploring done during the day while you’re out.” He took a bite of his sausage, following it up with ouzo. He had to hand it to the kid, it was a great combination.  
  
“Mind leaving out our dad’s journal on the desk?” Sam piped up from the side.  
  
"Oh, right," Jacob said with a nod, remembering the worn journal that was still tucked safely in his duffel bag from the trip. Their father had taken notes on every supernatural thing he knew about; how to hunt it, and how to kill it. It had saved their asses more than once, helping get the brothers and especially Jacob up to speed on the fight against things that went bump in the night. Sam seemed determined to memorize the entire thing at the rate he was going, and Dean and Jacob were inclined to let him.  
  
"Journal, shirt with pockets, got it," Jacob repeated with a grin, claiming an olive from the plate when he was certain his hand wouldn't be invading anyone's personal space.  
  
"I'll get a bunch done and tomorrow you guys can just chill for a while."  
  


* * *

  
Bobby Loran quirked an eyebrow at the monstrous car parked outside of Jacob's house. The black and chrome classic sparked envy in him, and he found himself wondering who was driving _that_ around. He doubted it was Jacob's stepdad, and his mom probably never would.  
  
It was equally hard to believe that Jacob would end up with such a nice car, considering the less than glamorous line of work he'd taken up.  
  
Not that Bobby would judge his old friend for it. Jacob had never been afraid of hard work. Bobby hadn't had a chance to hang out with Jacob in a long time, but as soon as he heard the big guy was back in town, he paid the little house a visit. The tiny front lawn was immaculate as always, showing off Mariana's care for the landscaping. Despite having a smaller home, she took the advice from magazines to heart.  
  
Bobby traipsed up the lawn to knock on the door, glad to be in the shade of the house after the walk there. There was a shuffling of shoes on hardwood floors before the door opened and Mariana answered. Bobby offered her a smile; anyone who knew Jacob knew that his mother was one of the sweetest people on the planet.  
  
"Hey, Mrs. Andris," he greeted her. "I hear Jacob's back in town?"  
  
She bobbed her head and her curls bounced with the motion. "You hear right, Bobby, but our timing's off. I sent him into the city with my car to run some errands for me. You're welcome to come inside and wait for him, though; I doubt he'll be gone too much longer."  
  
"Thank you, ma'am, I might just do that," he replied, stepping into the house.  
  
"Good to see you again, hon," Mariana said, closing the door before opening her arms for a hug.   
  
Bobby chuckled and let the petite woman embrace him. "Yeah," he replied.  
  
Once Mariana took her leave to return to whatever she'd been bustling about doing (she always had a project going on when she wasn’t at one of her jobs), Bobby trudged up the stairs, tired footsteps landing a little heavier than might usually happen. He'd visited enough times to know exactly where Jacob's room was, and he didn't even look up from the phone he'd retrieved from his pocket to check for texts until he'd already thrown the door open and walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing one of Jacob's best friends from childhood: Bobby Loran!
> 
> Now, who remembers this kid from Bowman of Wellwood ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** July 10th, 2019 at 9pm EST


	4. The Brothers Lost

Idly stretched out along the margins of their dad’s journal, Dean slid his whetstone along his knife, admiring the silver gleam that caught the light while Sam frowned down at a passage in John Winchester’s heavy-handed scrawl.  
  
They’d spent most of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon like that. Dean got his exercise when Sam needed to turn the page, and Sam persisted in trying to kick him out of the way instead of letting him get up on his own.  
  
They always found their own balance.  
  
Both of their bags were left off to the side, next to the journal. Once he was done checking over his own knife, Dean was planning on going over Sam’s just as assiduously. They needed to keep the only weapons they owned in tip-top shape. They couldn’t risk the precious knives for anything. Any other weapon their size wouldn’t come close to the craftsmanship or quality. Dean would be damned if he let Sam’s weapon fall out of repair, the best defense his little brother had against the too-big world.  
  
“Y’know, I was thinking,” Dean said aloud, breaking their easy silence.  
  
Sam arched his eyebrows in Dean’s direction. “Thinking? You do that?”  
  
“Smartass.” Dean stared up at the ceiling high above. He had one leg casually kicked up on a knee, and was lying flat on his back. “But anyway, I was thinking we might want to see if we can get Jacob some more practice on the guns. He could use it.”

[Artwork by Jennilah](https://www.deviantart.com/jennilah/art/Tiny-Dean-Commission-783065636)  
  
Sam shrugged, walking past Dean. He whapped Dean’s boot with a hand as he passed, making Dean briefly flail when his balance was lost. “We’ve got some time while we’re in town if there’s any gun ranges around. I doubt his parents or the neighbors will appreciate it if he starts taking potshots at cans in the backyard like at Bobby's.”  
  
Dean sat up. “We’ll just have to--”  
  
Sam never found out what he was going to say.  
  
The sound of footsteps trudging up the stairs made it through the walls. Dean twisted to look towards the door, only faint concern on his face. It was early for Jacob to be back, but the cadence and floor-shaking impression they could feel was nothing like how Mike and Mariana walked around the home.  
  
Sam turned as well, but a shock ran up his back. The world almost dropped away as the door was tossed carelessly open, slamming against the wall and nearly jarring them from their feet.  
  
The figure wasn’t as tall as the human they’d grown used to seeing over the last few months. He was thinner, too, not nearly as muscled. His head was topped with pale blond hair and his eyes were blue like ice. Aside from the arrogant demeanor of someone that clearly thought he owned whatever ground he walked on, one fact darted right through the brothers’ hearts like steel bolts.  
  
It wasn’t Jacob.  
  
That was all it took. Dean threw himself off the journal, almost mowing Sam down in his hurry. He grabbed Sam’s arm with one hand, hauling him along while the newly-sharpened knife was brandished in the other. “Out of sight!” he hissed, but he didn’t need to say a word.   
  
Sam knew exactly how bad their situation was. The blond-haired kid that came in was smaller than Jacob, but it didn’t matter. They were still only the size of his fingers, and they had no idea who he was or why he had barged in. There was no way that Jacob would have let someone into his room without at least _warning_ them.  
  
At least, that's what Sam _hoped_.  
  
Their panicked flight drew Bobby's eyes like a beacon. He was simply too quick, too unexpected, for their running to get them out of sight in time. The phone dropped to the carpet and a blurted exclamation escaped his lips.  
  
And then he lurched forward, surprised footsteps shaking the desk as he closed the distance in mere steps, crossing an expanse of carpet that would take Sam and Dean almost a full minute. His shadow slid over the fleeing brothers, awed blue eyes wide with shock.  
  
 _Are those...?_  
  
He didn't finish asking himself what the hell he was looking at. In a rapid reaction to their scampering attempt to run away, Bobby threw out both hands and planted them in their path on the desk, a wall as high as they were landing irrevocably in front of them. A grin broke out on his face, already celebrating his quick thinking. _Gotcha!_  
  
“Son of a _bitch!_ ” Dean snapped, the hands walled in front of them. He pivoted on one foot, twisting around to see the human leering down at them. It was a shockingly different grin than Jacob had when he’d discovered Dean in his motel room. Jacob had been enamoured, fascinated by the smaller man. Even when he was trapping Dean in a coffee pot, he’d tried to (unsuccessfully) reassure Dean that he was safe. But this guy...  
  
Something about that grin was _dangerous_. Possessive. Dean felt a chill as cold as those blue eyes racing through his nervous system.  
  
Dean shoved Sam in the opposite direction. “Now!” he shouted.  
  
Sam would know what to do.  
  
In unison, the two brothers tossed themselves forward with their knives. Almost at the same time, twin silver blades cut into Bobby’s hands, one on each side. They needed to get the hands out of their way. If they couldn’t manage that, they wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance at escaping.  
  
Bobby's celebratory smirk shifted into a grimace of pain in seconds and he hissed out an angry curse. Sharp, equal pains bit into both hands, leading him to draw them back towards himself in a reflexive action.  
  
With the two little things between him and his hands, the motion shoved at them before his hands lifted out of their range. It was enough to topple the bulkier one, who'd thrown more of his weight forward in stabbing Bobby's hand. Luck favored the human.  
  
Instead of checking his injury, Bobby scowled and flicked the fallen little man's knife away from his hand before he could reestablish his grasp on it, sending the tiny weapon clattering across the desk and trailing tiny spots of blood. It only took a second to wrap his hand around the creature before it could scrabble after the blade, pinning its arms and legs securely and concealing all but the tiny head and shoulders in a hand.  
  
In _one hand._  
  
Bobby let himself glance over his small catch, fascination overriding the annoyance in his expression for just a moment. "I don't believe it," he muttered, before a stinging pain in his closed hand made him frown again. "You little shits."  
  
He turned his eyes to find the other, his free hand held at the ready to snatch at him.  
  
Dean snarled at the sight of Sam caught in a hand _again._ Huge fingers clutched around his valiantly-struggling younger brother, and pure rage coursed through his veins.  
  
“Takes one to know one,” Dean snapped, his anger finding its focus on the stranger that had intruded on their peaceful afternoon, destroying the serenity and security they’d found for a short period of time. They’d even started to believe that they’d be _safe,_ for once, sitting out in the open on their own. Fresh air surrounded them for once and they’d thought they could simply sit and enjoy it without fear.  
  
That wasn’t something they’d done much since being cursed.  
  
Brandishing his knife once more, Dean fell into a fighting stance, bracing the hilt against a palm with the blade held out. He was ready to bury it into the stranger without flinching. “Put him down, you fucking King Kong knockoff!”  
  
Bobby didn't flinch from the vehemence in Dean's stance. He didn't scowl or brush off the insult. He didn't even make a move right away to grab at Dean like he planned to. But he didn't comply with his demands, either.  
  
Instead, he laughed.  
  
It was a subdued but derisive sound, one that revealed that he knew perfectly well who was really in control here. It wasn't Dean, not by a mile. Bobby held all the cards, and he wasn't inclined to share any of them.  
  
"Right. You're so badass," he mocked, rolling his eyes. He glanced away from Dean for just a second to check out the palm that Dean had sliced open already. The tiny knife was practically covered in his blood, but the cut was hardly more than a very annoying scratch. He turned his hand around, fingers splayed out, to show off the wound and how little it really affected him. "Look at you go."  
  
And then, before Dean could properly react, the hand rushed forward, two fingers snagging Dean's entire hand between them, concealing the knife and the hand gripped around it with ease. "Drop it," Bobby muttered absently, just barely finding enough purchase on the flat of the blade to yank it away from the small hand with ease. He didn't pay any mind to the pained grimace that flashed over Dean's face as he stumbled from having his arm tugged at.  
  
Bobby dropped the weapon on the ratty old journal, rubbing his fingers together absently to make sure he hadn't nicked himself again. He wiped a small smear of blood onto his jeans before reaching forward again, sweeping the tiny man off the desk and lifting him swiftly so he was level with the other one.  
  
He stared greedily at them, ignoring their attempts to break free of his grip. "Wow. Who'd have thought Jacob would be stashing something this crazy in his room." _What's that guy been up to?_  
  
Dean practically spluttered in rage at the offhand comments, trying to thrash his legs free of his confinement. The pulse around him, unlike the steady plod of Jacob’s pulse, fueled more anger in him. “ _Stashing_ us?! What the fuck do you think we _are?_ Fucking toys?” The guy was smaller than Jacob, but none of Dean’s kicks had any more effect than the first time he’d been captured. _Goddamn curse_.  
  
“ _Dean,_ stop!” Sam hissed from the side, his face scrunched up in pain from the tight hold that curled around his entire body. Every inch of him but his shoulders and head was trapped.  
  
Bobby smirked, amused by Dean's fiery attitude in spite of his situation. Either he was stupidly bold, or he just didn't get that he'd already lost. Bobby had caught them, fair and square.  
  
"I dunno what you are," he admitted with a shrug. "Ya don't really _look_ like sprites, but then again I haven't actually seen one of those, either." If he concentrated, he could feel the itty bitty torsos straining for breath against his grip. He loosened his grasp just a little, quirking an eyebrow. It was strange to think that they were _this fragile,_ and yet here one of them was, backtalking him like he owned the place.  
  
Adjusting his grip, Bobby moved his thumb under Dean's chin, tilting his head back a little to get a better look at his angry little face. "Don't give me that look, you're the ones who got your asses caught."  
  
With his taunting out of the way, Bobby lowered the pair slightly, tilting his hands and considering his options. If Jacob was keeping them here, he'd probably find out what had happened. Bobby smirked to himself again, remembering that he'd been something of a ringleader among their small group of friends. He could probably convince Jacob of something if he caught on.  
  
His decision made, Bobby opened the hand with Sam just long enough to release Dean onto it next to him, closing his grip on them the second he landed. He was more cautious this time, trying not to squish the pair together and break those fragile little bones.  
  
Dean crashed down next to his little brother, his hands desperately trying to touch his neck to make sure that Bobby’s fingernail hadn’t done any lasting damage when he was peering so closely at the small hunter. Having his chin propped up like that was a sharp reminder that it wouldn’t be much more effort to have their necks snapped instead, killed as easily as mice or rats that were found infringing on a human’s property.  
  
All he managed was to lightly brush his hand along the scuff that was forming, and the huge fingers curled around them again. The two brothers were pinned together, and instead of looking over them, this time the human wasn’t paying them any mind at all.  
  
“Easy on the package!” Dean snipped at Sam when the grip on them tightened, pressing the two small forms against each other. It was a looser grip, but Dean just couldn’t wriggle an arm free. The knives on the desk and the journal suddenly seemed so far away as the human turned from the desk and stooped down to get his phone.  
  
Sam replied, but the words were lost in the resurgence of Dean’s fear of heights. His face turned white at the loose grip and the ground that rushed up to meet them as the fingers of Bobby’s other hand closed around the phone he’d discarded in his shock and hurry to grab them.  
  
“Dean!” Sam’s voice started to break through when a sharp jab came from his left. “Dean, look at me!”  
  
Dean’s lips parted, almost panting in fright at the terrifying drop. He met Sam’s hazel eyes. Despite everything else, they were still hopeful and strong. “Dean, focus on me. Do _not_ look down, whatever you do. You do this with Jacob all the time, you can do it now. Don’t let him see you afraid.”  
  
The words were hushed and hurried, but they were exactly what he needed to hear. Sam was right. He _did_ do this with Jacob all the time. It wasn’t exactly the same, with the huge teenager very considerate of his passengers at any time while this stranger was now holding them casually down at his side, but it was close enough that Dean managed to pull himself out of his funk. He was still trapped, he could still feel Sam struggling next to him in the hope of slipping out of the loose grip before the human crossed out of the threshold of Jacob’s room, but he was himself and not a slave to his phobia.  
  
Dean wouldn’t let Bobby see him afraid. He was a _hunter._ He wouldn’t cower for some kid.  
  
In the midst of trying to push at least one of the fingers out of Sam’s way, in the hope that his greater running speed would help his escape, Dean angrily shot up at the human, “Where the hell do you think you’re taking us?”  
  
The human didn’t even look down.  
  
Dean cursed, trying to squirm free. “Sonovabitch!” he growled. He only managed to jab Sam with an elbow, eliciting a grunt out of his younger brother. “Sorry, Sammy.”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” Sam huffed back, caught up in his own struggles.  
  
Bobby crossed out of the room, taking the brothers away from their sanctuary and heading straight for the stairs.  
  
And the outside world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, one of my favorite scenes! We even got a picture of it!
> 
> Okay, yea, the rest is pretty terrible
> 
> **Next:** July 14th, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	5. The Shortest

Bobby headed down the steps with the two tiny people secure in his hand, ignoring the squirming and the low voices that barely filtered up to his hearing. His heart was pounding over the discovery he'd made on what was supposed to be a casual visit to catch up with his friend. He knew he shouldn't be taking them from Jacob like this, but he could probably work something out.  
  
It was just _too good_ of an opportunity to pass up.  
  
He almost had his hand on the front doorknob when Mariana's face peeked around one of the doorways in the hall. "Bobby, you're leaving?" The disappointment on her face was as if he was one of her own friends ducking out early. Bobby didn’t want to arouse any suspicion in her in case she knew about Jacob's little ‘finds.’  
  
He turned abruptly, smoothly angling himself so that the hand with his captives was hidden behind himself. "Oh, well, I sat upstairs for a little bit, but then I figured if he’s running errands he’ll have to help out with that stuff when he gets back and didn’t want to be in the way," he said, lying better than Jacob ever had. "I figure I can come back later, or he can come chill at my house."  
  
Mariana smiled and nodded. "Okay, I'll let him know you stopped by."  
  
Bobby smiled before taking his leave, inwardly cursing his hasty lie. He might as well have left a note on Jacob's desk saying _Yes I took your tiny people come and meet me so we can talk about terms._  
  
Not that it wouldn't come to that eventually, anyway, but still. Bobby hoped he had plenty of time before Jacob showed up and he had to put his efforts towards keeping the big guy calm. It shouldn't be too hard; Jacob was one of the chillest people Bobby knew. He was easy to talk out of being upset.  
  
Out in the sunlight, he glanced up and shielded his eyes with his free hand, before starting on his route home. The pair in his hand were, thankfully, mostly concealed by his fingers. They weren't likely to be noticed so long as he walked with purpose and he didn't act suspicious.  
  


* * *

  
It was a ten minute walk from Jacob's family's tidy little neighborhood to the larger houses of Bobby's. Bobby eventually strolled up the driveway of a large brick house, cutting to the side door. For the first time since taking them, he acknowledged their presence, lifting his hand up to inspect them while his free hand lingered on the handle of the back door.  
  
They were still there, still real, and still unbelievably small. He barely noticed their struggling. He let out a self-satisfied, smug little chuckle before heading into the house, this time holding the two brothers close to his chest while he headed up the steps that were immediately inside. In a few dizzying turns and the slam of a door, the smug teen was in his room, leaning against the door. He took a deep breath to let the adrenaline of his recent undertaking wear off.  
  
Dean and Sam, for themselves, were frozen. They were in an unknown place, far from where they’d started out, and Jacob had no idea where they were. No way of knowing he’d ever even be able to _find_ them.  
  
They were on their own.  
  
Dean scowled, his eyes flashing from side to side to assess the new landscape they’d found themselves in. The room had more clutter to it, with shelves of books and trinkets alike. Posters adorned some walls and the bed was unmade. It was a far better landscape for hiding places. If they had to, they could escape into the walls and hide out. Hope that Jacob really _did_ know this human.  
  
Hope that he would come for them.  
  
 _He will, he_ has _to,_ Dean thought stubbornly to himself. They counted on Jacob, and he hadn’t let them down yet.  
  
Sam sucked in a breath, and Dean glanced over at him, his brow furrowing worriedly. After a solid ten minutes of the human walking with them casually held out in the open with a hand, Sam wasn’t looking his best. He might even be worse off than Dean was. The swinging nausea from Bobby’s hold was finally dwindling for Dean, but the sheer exposure to the world was wearing on his younger brother, his innate ability to feel when people were looking at him activated even if they didn’t _see_ him against Bobby’s bulk.  
  
After a few calming breaths, Bobby sauntered across his room to a desk lit by a window facing the front yard. He drew the thin curtain across it before dropping into the seat and shoving the books and pens littering it to one side. One book fell to the floor with a slam, but Bobby ignored it.  
  
Only once he had a clutter-free area in front of him did he lower his hand with Sam and Dean onto the desk. He opened up the coiled fingers an inch above the surface, letting them drop in a heap.  
  
While they got their bearings and tried to untangle their limbs, he moved his hands to act as barriers around them while he observed them with open curiosity and fascination. They were so _tiny,_ their movements completely fluid, like actual people.  
  
"Alright," he said, an entitlement in his tone that suggested he was used to people listening to him. "What the hell _are_ you? You're not some kinda sprite, are ya?"  
  
The moment they were back on their feet, Dean snapped out a hand, making Sam stay back so he stood between the new human and his little brother. It didn’t mean much, with the huge hands hemming them in on all other sides, but he’d do whatever he could to keep Sam from getting hurt.  
  
Needless to say, Dean didn’t feel like he owed Bobby any answers.  
  
The question didn’t make any sense to them, either. Sprites? Like some kind of fairy? Jacob’s first reaction to them was _borrowers,_ and Bobby’s reaction was _littles_ , but at least those made some sorta sense. They didn't have _wings_ , after all.  
  
Neither was right, of course. They were just two brothers who’d had the worst run of luck when they were kids. Today, that bad luck had reared up and bitten them yet again.  
  
“What the hell do you _think_ we are?” Dean growled up at the human towering over them. Jacob might be the bigger one between them, but this guy certainly had looming figured out. He managed to use his arrogant aura to maximize on his size even more. The Winchesters were both tense and prepared, ready to act the second they saw an opening. Sam didn’t need a hook or thread to climb down from most surfaces, though shimmying down was much more dangerous.   
  
Desperate times. If Sam was the only one to escape, so be it. Dean would weather anything if he could make sure Sam was safe.  
  
“Do I look like fucking Tinkerbell?”  
  
Bobby smirked again. The snarky answer was, in a roundabout way, still an answer to his question. They weren't sprites, but that didn't mean they weren't still incredible. "You really want an answer to that, runt?" he quipped, nudging Dean's shoulder harshly with one finger. It was so strange to be able to make someone stumble with just a touch like that.  
  
He pinched the side of Dean's tiny leather jacket, brushing the material with his thumb. "S'pose leather makes you feel like tough shit, don't it?" he teased, poking at Dean's chest. If the snippy little guy was going to put himself front and center the way he had, he was going to get teased. It only made sense.  
  
"What are you, then, if not sprites?" he asked again, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Dean let out a _whuff_ of air, his breath knocked out of his lungs by the casual poke from the human. He rubbed a hand there, surprised to realize how tender it was already. There would be a bruise forming soon enough, and a matching one on his shoulder, for sure. He glared up at the human. “Why the hell don’t you go do what you’re supposed to do and sing ‘Fee, fie, foe, fum’ like a good giant,” he snapped angrily, refusing to back down and risk Bobby’s attention falling on Sam instead. “I didn’t come in _your_ house and kidnap you!”  
  
Sam tensed, barely holding himself back from trying to pull Dean away. He knew that was the last thing his older brother would want, but it was hard watching Dean try and guard him like that. _You better know what you’re doing,_ he thought desperately, wishing again that Jacob had just been in the room with them. Bobby’s attention was focused on Dean, but the _burn_ of a dangerous gaze still tickled at the back of Sam’s neck.  
  
" 'Giant?' Really?" Bobby laughed again, a condescending smile settling on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He couldn't figure out why, but it annoyed him to no end that this tiny runt kept mouthing off at him.  
  
"I guess you would say that," he determined, placing a fingertip of each hand on the tops of their heads. "Looks like you're the shortest one here, bud," he pointed out with a mean grin as the snarky little guy tried to punch his finger. The strike landed and had no effect at all.  
  
It gave him an idea, and Bobby removed his hands from them to lean back slightly, yanking open the middle drawer of the desk. He rummaged around, shoving pens and other random desk supplies aside until he drew out a metal ruler, dark measurement ticks embossed on it.  
  
"Let's see how you measure up, little guys," he said, malice replaced by simple expectation in his tone. He didn't see any possibility of them resisting him, so when he stood the ruler up near the two, he waited patiently for them to comply. They were at least intelligent enough to understand what the ruler was for; now it was a question of whether they were smart enough to do what he asked.  
  
“Fuck you,” Dean spat. He already _knew_ he was the shortest guy around. The last thing he wanted to know was exactly _how_ short.  
  
Just as he flipped Bobby off with an angry gesture, Sam stepped in between them. “Look, I’m going, okay? Just… don’t hurt him,” he pleaded with the human, knowing that Dean was already skating on thin ice from the tone of voice Bobby had taken on. He didn’t want his big brother getting hurt for him.  
  
“Sam, no!” Dean said, trying to lunge for his little brother’s arm. “Don’t give him what he wants!”  
  
Bobby snickered at the dramatics. For the sake of getting the task over with, he lightly nudged Dean back from the taller one, Sam, he now knew, to prevent him from impeding his progress. Dean stumbled back a few inches, holding his arms tenderly around his chest.   
  
Bobby tilted his head to match Sam's height to the little dark lines on the metal ruler before nodding to himself.  
  
"A whole four inches," he said, sounding just as condescending as he looked. He turned his grin on Dean, once again targeting the victim easier to rile up. "That means you don't even make _four inches!_ " It made it even stranger that someone that small would have such an idiotic drive to backtalk literally everything.  
  
"Your turn," he said, glancing pointedly at the ruler again. "I think it's been pretty well established that I can find out how tall you are one way or another, _Dean._ "  
  
Dean bristled at the condensation aimed first at Sam, then at himself. Not once, in the time he’d been trapped in a coffee pot with Jacob, had he felt so…  
  
Fucking _small_.  
  
As strange as it was, he’d rather be in that coffee pot again, staring at the fill lines that marked off a full pot of coffee and ruminating on the fact that he wasn’t even as tall as _that_. Jacob’s warm brown eyes peering in, even when he was oblivious to the plight he was putting Dean through, had never given them the feeling of worthlessness that the cold blue eyes above did. He’d been amazed, and concerned, but he’d never had a glint in his eyes that said he thought he was _better._  
  
“You already know I’m under four inches tall,” Dean snarled, holding his arms protectively in front of his chest, already prepared for the backlash. “What more do you need? I _know_ I’m the shortest one here, isn’t that enough?!”  
  
Bobby huffed and rolled his eyes, exasperation in every bit of his bearing. He didn't even care that much about the exact measurement of the pipsqueak. Dean's attitude, the constant ornery behavior, was quickly getting on his nerves.  
  
Bobby was _bigger._ Usually he had to get himself in charge with some kind of guile, but this time there shouldn't even be a question about it.  
  
His eyes narrowed, and that was the only warning before his grip on the ruler shifted and he slammed it down right in front of Dean. The metal made a loud _thwack!_ against the wooden desk, a merciless strike that would have broken several bones if he'd hit Dean with it.  
  
"I dunno what the hell you're tryin' ta prove, here, but it ain't workin," he said, signs of a Texas drawl sneaking into his voice in his pure irritation. "How the hell can you think mouthing off like this is a good idea? You don't call the shots here, buddy."  
  
Dean stood rigid, afraid that if he even moved the wrong way, Bobby would make that same move, only this time aiming for him. His hands curled into fists, clenched so tightly with wound up fear, frustration and anger that the nails almost cut right into his skin.  
  
There was a huge difference between the way Dean approached things and the way Bobby approached things. It was unfortunate that Dean was so much smaller than the kid.  
  
He’d never needlessly _hurt_ someone he _already_ had complete power over.  
  
 _If I was my normal size,_ Dean’s mind conjured up unaided, _this talk would be going in a whole different direction._  
  
He’d have no trouble handling a guy like Bobby. Even if Dean turned out to be _shorter_ than the kid, he was trained to fight. This guy looked like he would send out other people to do his dirty work. Dean could tie him up in knots any day. He had no problem doing his own dirty work.  
  
“Fine,” he growled at last, feeling a part of him start to break as he gave in. “Take your damn measurements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to break a Dean
> 
> **Next:** July 17th, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	6. And Then There Was One

Bobby's gloating smirk was foul to behold. He stood the ruler up again, placing it next to the surly little guy to see exactly how tall the runt really was. He didn't care about the number as much as his victory against Dean’s defiant attitude. Someone so small should know better.  
  
"Hmmm. Looks like you're a bit above three and three quarter inches tall," he said aloud, drawing back the ruler and shoving it back into the desk drawer. He had two tiny little men, four inches tall and shorter, standing on his desk. It was incredible, and yet there they were, standing there and waiting for him to make his next move. Because he was the one running the show as it went along.  
  
Bobby's family had passed down stories for generations. A plot of family land was kept protected because of tiny, mythical beings that were supposed to live there. It was just one of those old heirloom stories that the family held onto, but Bobby had always wondered in the back of his mind.  
  
Even if these guys weren't exactly like his ancestor's journals described, they were close enough. Tiny, humanoid, and tenacious. And somehow _Jacob_ of all people had found them. He had to wonder how the huge guy had managed to keep them around. Even some regular sized people had trouble hiding their nerves around him.  
  
Saving the questions for later, Bobby reached out without warning, picking Sam up in a loose grasp and whisking him into the air.   
  
“ _Sam!_ ”  
  
The second that hand rushed forward to pluck Sam into the air, Dean tried to run forward. He didn’t know what he was going to do-- grab Sam, punch the hand holding him, _something,_ he just knew he needed to do it. But it was only a second before Sam was whisked up out of reach, carelessly tilted this way and that, subjected to a new human’s curiosity. One that didn’t care what he did to his captives.  
  
Dean skid to a halt, arms briefly pinwheeling at the edge of the desk. The gap yawned under his boots, beckoning him with a flash of vertigo. He had to take a step back, tilting his head up to see Sam suspended in midair above him.  
  
If Dean had been a better climber, it would have been a great time to try and escape with Bobby’s focus on his younger brother.  
  
But he wasn’t, and Sam _needed_ him.  
  
Sam’s scared hazel eyes caught his, and Dean’s heart turned to ice. His little brother had always been afraid of kids, worried if either of them were ever caught, they’d be treated like toys to be tossed around. It might not be a kid that had found them, but the same thing was happening.  
  
They were helpless.  
  
With a thumb and a couple fingers pinched around the tiny torso, Bobby looked Sam over, turning him to get a better look. He poked at the little jacket, trapped one of the squirming legs to keep it still between two fingers, and tilted the tiny chin. Whatever they were, they were perfect mimics of human shape.  
  
"How the heck d'you get by at this size?" he said aloud, though it was more of a musing to himself than a question directed at either of his captives.  
  
Sam’s arms caught onto the fingers pinched around his chest, trying to hold on as he was suspended horizontally in the air. He scrunched his eyes shut in pain at the pressure focused on his chest, breathing hard.  
  
To everyone’s shock, Dean wasn’t the one to respond to Bobby’s question. Sam was.  
  
“We get by… by avoiding asshats like you,” he said, ending in a cough as he tried to breathe. His hands scrabbled at the fingers around him, and he tried to kick at the other hand.  
  
Bobby froze, one tiny boot planted on his knuckle and trying to kick his hand away. He had to really concentrate just to feel the contact. Sam, despite his greater bulk compared to Dean, was still just a wisp of a thing compared to Bobby.  
  
He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard for a moment by the insult coming out of Sam. He'd come to expect it out of Dean, but until this point Sam hadn't seemed inclined to fight. Indeed, his focus seemed to be aimed more towards clinging to Bobby's hand to avoid dropping to the desk. Bobby didn't retaliate right away, but he did take the bait.  
  
" 'Asshats like me,’ huh," he echoed. "Oh man, that sure hurt my feelings."  
  
"I'm kinda wondering how you somehow ended up with Jacob carting you around." Bobby smirked, holding Sam upright again. "I mean, he's one of my best friends from school, he's pretty chill, but the guy's huge."  
  
Ignoring the little kicks, Bobby's other hand approached again. He trapped one of Sam's arms between a finger and thumb and pried it away from his grip on Bobby's hand. "You'd think a big guy like him would have you running as soon as he was out of sight."  
  
Sam's fingers curled inwards, trying not to flinch his arm and get it hurt. The grip was firm, but not as painful as the pinch around his chest. “Maybe Jacob just treats us like what we _are_ ,” he grit out, his own eyes flashing with stubborn determination to match Dean's. He might not be as easily riled, but he could hold his own in an argument with Dean when anyone else would give in from sheer exhaustion.  
  
“Maybe he treats us like people,” Sam snapped. He tried to twist his arm out of the grip but got nowhere. “At least _Jacob_ doesn't hurt us just because he can. He'll come after us. You'll see.”  
  
Dean wished he had Sam's confidence, but down on the desk, a bout of helplessness stronger than ever hit him. He had no way to get to Sam. They had no way of telling Jacob where they were.  
  
And if this guy was telling the truth, and he _was_ one of Jacob's best friends, what if Jacob took his side? They'd only just met him a few months ago. What was that compared to a childhood best friend?  
  
"I can handle Jacob," Bobby dismissed, breezing right past Sam's boastful claim and shooting down his bold assertions with bored confidence. He'd always been a leader. Jacob might be big, but he never gave off any indication that he wanted to be alpha. It was almost funny that Dean, the tiniest person Bobby had ever laid eyes on, was more assertive than his enormous friend had ever been.  
  
Bobby moved Sam's arm slowly, testing the range of motion and how it compared to a human's arm. He didn't want to risk snapping the little shoulder, though his motions were clumsy, not used to handling such a tiny being.  
  
 _How does Jacob carry them? They're too small,_ he mused to himself as he raised Sam's arm above his little head.  
  
If he concentrated, he could feel the tiny muscles shifting as Sam clenched his fist. The delicate arm was half engulfed in Bobby's grasp. Sam had no chance of pulling himself free, and, despite his catty remarks, it looked like he knew it.  
  
Bobby tilted his head and slowly released his pinch on the little guy's torso. He kept his hand nearby, but eventually he was only holding Sam up by his little arm. He ignored Dean completely for a moment, curiously watching Sam's reaction to the change.  
  
Sam let out a hiss of pain as his weight was suddenly concentrated right where Bobby held his arm in a pinch. The fingers were closed roughly around his forearm, cutting off circulation and threatening to do worse if the human so much as tightened his grip.  
  
“You sick son of a bitch, let him go!” Dean raged from the desk, eyes wide as he watched Sam's plight. Dangling from a hand like that just made them seem even smaller. Sam's weight was nothing to the human. “What did we ever do to you?!”  
  
The sway in midair from dangling was enough to make Sam yelp in pain, his voice going up in pitch. His legs kicked at nothing and desperately searched for somewhere to settle his weight and take the painful pressure off his arm. His mind had no room for any snark now. Only pain and fear, and Dean's shouts in the distance.  
  
Bobby frowned faintly, glancing over Sam's little face. It looked like he was in a lot of pain, though Bobby wasn't sure if he was just exaggerating out of fear or if it was accurate. People could hang on with just one hand; this didn't seem that different.  
  
Sam's kicking and swaying translated into the muscles in his arm twitching and straining in Bobby's grip. It was only an instant, he would swear, but he thought the little guy might slip free and drop. His grip tightened _just a little_ to keep him secure...  
  
And Bobby felt a snap. The little guy's yelp turned into a pained scream.  
  
"Ah, shit," he hissed, quickly bringing his other hand up under Sam to let his tiny weight settle on his palm before he released the arm. His brow furrowed. He didn't intend to break the tiny bones. It was too easy to make that mistake.   
  
Sam and Dean were simply too fragile.  
  


* * *

  
The second Sam landed on Bobby’s palm, he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He only just had enough left of his mind to curl around his arm, trying to cushion the broken limb and avoid landing on it. A spark of white-hot pain kindled through him at the impact, wiping out all other thought.  
  
He went limp, his mind fleeing into unconsciousness to escape the all-consuming pain.  
  
“ _Sammy!_ ” Dean, stuck on the desk, couldn’t see his brother. He had no idea what had broken. The scream of pain stuck in his mind, ripping through him like it was his own.  
  
He glared up at the human, unable to do anything else. “What were you thinking?” he cried out, concern for Sam flooding out thoughts of the battle of wills he was trapped in. “You can’t just treat a person like that, he’s not some toy you can toss around!” He kicked angrily at the air, wishing Bobby’s arms were down on the table so he could at least work out some of his helplessness and anger, even if it got him into more trouble. “Put him down!”  
  
Any sparks of remorse in Bobby's eyes were slowly snuffed out and his look hardened. Of course Dean would keep yelling at him and being ornery. Of course. His wavering resolve shored up and Bobby glanced away from Sam's pitiful, curled up form to shoot an exasperated glare down at Dean.  
  
"Jeez, it's not my fault you guys have bones like toothpicks," he complained, frustrated. He hadn't meant to break Sam's arm, and now he couldn't really tell the extent of the damage. It was too small.  
  
"He'll probably be fine," he muttered, more to himself than to Dean. Then, glancing down at himself, Bobby propped open the pocket of his shirt. It had plenty of room; he dipped the hand with Sam on it into the fabric confinement, letting the little guy slide to the bottom. He'd figure out a better place to keep them later. Sam had only enough left in him to curl around his broken arm even further to protect it, his head limp.  
  
Bobby's focus shifted back to Dean, with whom he was no closer to getting along. A hand rushed at the tiny man, snatching him up without leaving a chance to escape it. Bobby was at least more careful this time, now that he knew how pitifully easy it'd be to snap one of Dean's tiny ribs.  
  
"What's the matter, did your bike gang leave ya behind, or something?" he jeered, tugging at one of Dean's miniscule leather sleeves. He tilted Dean so he could prop a fingertip under one of the tiny boots, examining the remarkable craftsmanship of them.  
  
With Sam out of sight and unconscious in a pocket, Dean was no closer to cooperating with the human. Even as he was tilted, his eyes remained glued on the folds of the pocket, concealing his little brother, the only family he had left, completely from view.  
  
There was barely even a _lump_.  
  
Dean tried to lash out with the boot Bobby was examining, wishing he could reach the guy’s face and hit him in the eye. Let _him_ know what it felt like. If their positions were reversed, Dean wouldn’t put him in a pocket. A damn _cage_ sounded like just the place for the human.  
  
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?” Dean snapped. With Sam out of sight, there was no reason to hold back. Whatever happened to him wouldn’t be as bad as being forced to watch his baby _brother_ get hurt and stuck in a pocket. Sam was of so little consequence to this human. He was like a toy, an object. Something that didn’t matter if it was _broken._  
  
Claimed.  
  
“You have to buy me dinner before any foreplay. When’s the last time you went on a date? All hands is _not_ the way to woo a girl.”  
  
"And I guess you know all about getting the girls, don't you, runt," Bobby shot back derisively, even as he released Dean's shoe. His blue eyes weren't notably pale, but when they fixed on Dean's face again they were icy cold. He could see Jacob finding this attitude amusing, but it had gotten old for Bobby a while ago.  
  
His next move was abrupt, but more careful than he'd been with Sam to avoid putting extra strain on Dean. He tipped the tiny man forward, deftly pinching both legs in his fingers so that he hung upside down in his grasp. The little leather jacket bunched up and Bobby smirked as Dean's tiny arms pinwheeled in surprise.  
  
"I dunno where you get that attitude, being so small," he mused, leaning his chin on his elbow and holding Dean at eye level. The drop to the desk was over a foot. "Aside from some cute little knife tricks you have nothing to back it up."  
  
Dean’s face was green as he stared back, but he didn’t break his gaze with the huge blue eyes staring right at him. Almost staring right _through_ him. He knew that if he looked at how high he was hanging in the air, that would be it. He’d start to hyperventilate and Bobby would win. There wouldn’t be anything left in Dean.  
  
 _Don’t let him see you afraid._  
  
Sam’s voice echoed in his head, and he glared. Sam had done _nothing_ to this human, and he was trapped in a pocket with a broken bone. Just because they were _different_.   
  
Just because they were small.  
  
“I’d like to see you stand up to a giant,” Dean snarled at Bobby Loran. “We’ll see how ‘cute’ my ‘knife tricks’ are when they’re all you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> **Next:** July 21st, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	7. Confidence Is Key

Jacob pulled his mother's grocery-laden family car into the driveway, killing the engine and tapping the horn to let her know he'd arrived. By the time she came out of the house to help with bags, he already had the back open and his arms full.  
  
"Oh, sweetie, thank you so much for doing that today," she gushed, picking up some bags herself.  
  
Jacob shrugged. "No problem. Easiest job I've had in a while." _Considering the last one was a ghost that just about tossed me through a wall._  
  
It took them no more than five minutes to unload the car and bring everything into the house. Jacob helped his mother put away food until she waved him off, pushing at his side and telling him to go relax. Her shoves against his strengthened core had no effect, but he chuckled and left her to her organizing. He snatched one bag out of the array, laden with cloth instead of food, and made his way up to his room.  
  
While he was out, he'd gotten a few new shirts. They had chest pockets, with flaps to conceal the openings at the top. Just looking at them in the store, they'd seemed like decently roomy options for Sam and Dean to hide out. From there, they could watch where he walked (and most likely have their input about what direction to go). He had to smile at how brash the little guys could be, and let himself hope that they’d approve of what he found.  
  
He wondered what they'd gotten up to while he was gone. He'd left the journal on his desk, one of Sam's preferred pastimes, but there was also an entire house to explore, and he knew Dean had been considering checking it out. For all he knew Dean had watched him bring in the groceries.  
  
His musings came to a screeching halt at the sight of his door at the end of the hall.   
  
His _open_ door.  
  
Despite his calmer side insisting that nothing was wrong, that it just fell open after he left, ice formed in Jacob's stomach. The door _should not_ be open. It was supposed to be a shield between the brothers and the rest of the house, a rare safe haven for his friends. They deserved a place where they could feel like regular guys. With it hanging open, Jacob's room was no safer than anywhere else for them to be.  
  
He rushed into the room, pushing the door closed behind him and pausing to take in the appearance of it. Nothing seemed out of place, but he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the floor. No sign of them.  
  
Jacob tossed his bag onto the bed and trudged over to the desk where he'd seen them last. The journal lay open to a middle page.  
  
And, lying on the page, with dried blood hiding its silver sheen, was a tiny knife. A small droplet of blood had fallen onto the paper, also dried to a rust color.   
  
Considering their size, that was a lot of blood to find on a knife.  
  
Jacob clenched his jaw and glanced over the rest of the desk, searching. Hoping to find Sam or Dean huddled behind something. Scared, maybe, but _there._ His hands shook with a fearful tremor.  
  
Instead, he found their bags leaning neatly against each other. On the other end of the desk, nearly to the edge, was the other small knife. It was bloodied, too.  
  
Dean Winchester had made those weapons the year before he and his brother were cursed to live life at nearly a twentieth their size. Other than Dean's tiny amulet that was barely more than a sparkle to Jacob, they were the only things they had left from their old lives at their scale. Jacob had seen Dean sharpening them and cleaning them many a time; the activity seemed to soothe the stern little guy, making sure he still had as solid a defense as he could against a world too large for him.  
  
He knew without a doubt that the brothers would _never_ leave those blades lying around if they had a choice in the matter.  
  
Jacob cast his gaze over the desk, hoping to find them once again, but he knew he wouldn’t. Something was _wrong,_ and he’d been too far away to know what was going on or how to help. It was like something heavier than he’d ever carried had settled on his chest, and Jacob was afraid.  
  
What if he never found them again, never knew if they were okay? They were so small. It would be easy to lose track of them for good.  
  
In a daze, he grabbed a pencil lead case from the clutter, flicking open the lid. He dumped the lead onto the desk, shaking the container to rid it of any excess dust. Peering into it, he decided it would work.  
  
Jacob knew better than to try to pick up the knives with his fingers. They were too small for him to be able to grip them properly when they were lying on the surface like that. Instead, by carefully moving the lead case, he was able to nudge them into the plastic container, one after the other. He hated the sight of them in such a state, such precious weapons just piled in the bottom, but he would worry about that later. It was his only way to protect the knives from being damaged by his sheer size.  
  
When he found the brothers, he’d apologize to Dean for getting the knives dirty.  
  
The lead case went into his pocket and Jacob, at a loss for what to do, headed back out of his room in a daze. The phone in his pocket, so recently bought because Sam and Dean insisted he should have at least one, was a heavy weight. He could try to call Bobby Singer, a friend of Sam and Dean’s from before their curse. He had his eyes on places all over, a network of hunters.  
  
But what would he be able to find? Jacob had no leads at all for him to go on.  
  
His mother noticed he was out of sorts when he wandered into the kitchen, and paused in the action of putting a bag of frozen peas in the freezer. “Jacob?” she asked, jarring him out of it enough to meet her eyes.  
  
“Yeah, um,” he stammered, then shook his head to put his words together. “Hey, were you in my room earlier? The, uh, the door was hanging open and some … some of my stuff on my desk looked a little out of place.”  
  
Mariana shook her head and her eyes lit up as she remembered. “No, Bobby was up there when he came to stop by, but he said he’d wait for you to finish up your errands. I don’t need anything else from you today, so I’d say you’re free. Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes ago. Maybe you could text him to catch up, it’s been a while since you saw him.”  
  
“Right,” Jacob said absently, his mind racing.  
  
Bobby Loran.  
  
Jacob’s friend from high school, Bobby was a wealthy kid that thought himself a pretty good leader. Jacob and their other friend, Chase, had always just gone along with it because his rants could be hilarious when he got on a tangent. They’d always known Bobby to have a sense of entitlement bubbling under the surface. He was a kid who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.  
  
It all made sense and Jacob took a slow breath, willing himself to smile at his very perplexed mother. “I totally forgot he’d know I was in town right away,” he told her. “I might go hang at his house instead of here. I’ll be back later.”  
  
“Okay, you goofball,” she grinned and waved him off, and somehow Jacob managed to leave the room before a scowl fell over his face.  
  
Bobby had walked in intending to wait on Jacob. Somehow, he’d found Sam and Dean. His curiosity, something Jacob had felt when he saw the brothers, was far more dangerous. Even before he knew he’d be hunting the supernatural with them, Jacob had never intended to _keep_ them. Bobby would not be so lax about something like this.  
  
To Bobby Loran, something existing meant it owed him something. He thought the world was his and that he could talk anyone into doing whatever he wanted. He’d decided to simply take two people against their will because he _could._ He didn’t even _need_ guile with people the size of a finger. It left a hollow pit in Jacob’s stomach.  
  
Jacob had the key to the Impala clutched so tightly in his hand it almost cut into his skin. He had to unlock his fist in a jerky motion to open the door and climb into the car. His free hand gripped the steering wheel instead, turning his knuckles white. His arm was shaking at the elbow from the tension.  
  
Jacob shoved the key in the ignition and started the car. It practically leaped away from the curb in his haste. He might have been imagining it, but it almost felt like the engine was louder, angrier than he’d heard it before. As if the Impala herself was full of rage over the way her two boys had been taken away.  
  
“Alright, Baby, time to go get Sam and Dean.”  
  


* * *

  
Bobby frowned at Dean, ready to retort to his latest sling, when he heard an unfamiliar sound growing closer. The roar of an engine, a powerful one, came right up to his house. Bobby took his focus off the man hanging from his fingers to sweep aside the curtain of the window in front of him.   
  
In front of his house, that black beast of an Impala had just come to a stop. The engine cut out and Bobby was amazed to see none other than Jacob Andris stepping out of the car. He looked madder than Bobby had ever seen him, but then again Bobby _had_ technically stolen from him.  
  
Out of his direct line of sight, Dean had an expression of hope on his face as he felt the familiar purr of his baby in his chest. Jacob had come for them at last. Dean had to pray it wasn’t too late for Sam.  
  
Bobby was confident, even as he watched Jacob stalk towards the side door. He’d visited enough times to know exactly where to go. Bobby shut the curtain again with a roll of his eyes. Jacob was all bark and no bite. He might have size on his side, but Bobby knew how to deal with him.  
  
“Wow, that was pretty fast,” he remarked, standing up and turning so he leaned idly against the desk. He could hear Jacob’s heavy footsteps as he dashed up the stairs, and Bobby was so focused on watching the door that he forgot to right Dean in his grasp. The tiny guy continued to dangle from his fingertips, arms stretched out and his jacket disheveled.  
  
Jacob burst into the room with all the grace of a bulldozer, brown eyes zeroing in on Bobby across the room. His old friend stood so casually, leaning against his desk. He’d been _expecting_ this. It burned Jacob up a little more inside that someone he thought was his friend would stand there looking so smug, while …  
  
“What the _fuck,_ Bobby?!” Jacob blurted, noticing Dean dangling from Bobby’s hand. Suspended over the floor, something like four feet in the air, Dean was helpless. Jacob felt that weight form in his chest again, remembering that Dean was afraid of heights. He’d never gotten rid of the phobia even after fourteen years of scaling giant furniture. Bobby held Dean _upside down_ at a height comparable to several stories up.  
  
Jacob bristled slowly, his hands curling into fists. He sent Dean a look that he hoped the little guy could see. He was going to get him out of there. “Bobby. Put him down. Nicely.”  
  
Bobby chuckled, then finally seemed to remember he had a person dangling from his hand. He righted his grasp on Dean, securing him in a fist instead. The little guy was engulfed tightly in a hand from the waist down. “Right. Oops,” he said, shrugging at Jacob as if to say ‘what can you do?’ Jacob was tempted to answer that look with a solid wall to the face, but he had to hold back.   
  
Dean was in danger, and Jacob couldn’t even _see_ Sam.  
  
“That isn’t putting him down,” Jacob said warningly.  
  
Bobby held up his free hand in a placating gesture. “Oh, come on, Jake, he’s _fine_ ,” he said with a grin. “It’s good to see you, though, man. Been a while.”  
  
Jacob closed his eyes and took a slow breath, and then thought, _Fuck counting to ten._ He was angry and it showed in every inch of his bearing. “Bobby. Don’t bullshit me. What did you do with Sam?”  
  
“Sam’s in his pocket!” Dean interjected loudly, not caring one bit if anything happened to him for retaliation. All that mattered was getting Sam out of harm’s way, and Jacob was his only option. From the moment he’d heard that growling engine outside, his heart had soared.  
  
There was hope.  
  
Dean twisted around in Bobby’s strong grip, trying to meet Jacob’s eyes from his captivity. It gave him a jolt to see the teenager so _angry._ Jacob was always placid, no matter _how_ much Dean scolded him. But now those brown eyes were dark and clouded, and the calm exterior was completely washed away. Dean knew that look, that posture, all too well. Jacob looked like a hunter, more than he ever had before.  
  
Dean jabbed a finger at the pocket in question, folds of fabric masking Sam’s collapsed form from sight. “Jacob… you gotta get him out! Sammy’s _hurt!_ ” His voice was choked up with worry and fear, and none of this for himself.  
  
Bobby sent a frown Dean's way, as if he was looking at a child interrupting a conversation. Not a man desperate to get some help for his brother. A man that was older than _both_ of the humans in the room. Jacob watched with a shocked expression as Bobby shifted his grip, allowing Dean to fall onto his palm in a heap before closing his fingers over him completely. Dean tried valiantly to stop Bobby, but vanished from sight even as he threw his arms up defensively. No amount of desperate struggles and kicks stopped that fist from closing harshly around him.  
  
"Bobby," Jacob warned, the dangerous edge to his voice even sharper than before. His old friend had gone on some kind of power trip. He'd completely skipped past the fact that Sam and Dean were _people._ Their size made them vulnerable, and Bobby, a kid who'd always liked to push people around to get what he wanted, keyed in on it.   
  
Jacob had heard that desperate fear in Dean's voice before. When _he_ was the one holding the brothers captive, Dean had thought his whole world was going to be taken away. Just because Jacob had Sam in his hand, because Sam was all Dean had left. Now, Sam was hurt, and Jacob didn't even know how badly.  
  
Bobby looked up from his fist, a hand that they could scarcely tell contained a person. "Jeez. What's with all these dramatics? I didn't do anything on purpose."  
  
" _What,_ " Jacob spat, cutting Bobby off before he could spew out more excuses, "did you do on ‘ _accident?_ ’ " he demanded, taking a threatening step towards Bobby.  
  
Bobby, smug as he always was, didn't waver. "Dude, chill, he's gonna be fine," he said.   
  
Jacob pursed his lips and hesitated, wondering if he should hear more excuses or try to wrestle Dean from Bobby's hand. He glanced at the fist, unable to see even a hair of his small friend, and winced faintly. If he rushed at Bobby now, Dean could get snapped in two without anyone even meaning it. Jacob, filled to the brim with the desire to beat the shit out of Bobby for what he did, for what he was _doing,_ had to wait.  
  
And then Bobby nearly ruined that patience by opening his fucking mouth again. "Dude, Jacob, maybe we can work out some kinda deal," he suggested, smiling a half smile that said he thought he was incredibly clever. "How about we split things like we always do. We can each have one of them. Whataya say?"  
  
Inside Bobby’s fist, Dean’s knees were shoved against his chest. The bruises ached in the close confines, on his chest and on his shoulder. He tried desperately to thrash his way free, but of course his efforts were futile. He couldn’t budge a single finger. As the words echoed overhead and vibrated the flesh walled around him, Dean’s heart froze.  
  
 _Separate_ them?!  
  
Dean tried to twist himself free. “How about I separate you from your arm, you sick fuck!”  
  
His voice echoed around him in the hot, humid enclosure, and he didn’t even know if it made it past the barrier. All he could do was cling to the image in his head of Jacob, absolutely _pissed_ when he saw Dean dangling in midair. The angry tone of voice when demanding to know what ‘accident’ had befallen Sam.  
  
Jacob was their only hope.  
  
The furious look remained on Jacob's face as he heard Dean's muffled yelling within Bobby's fist. And then, before he could do anything, Bobby tightened his grip. Jacob might have thought it was a trick of the light, or his imagination running wild with just how depraved Bobby was.  
  
But the gruff, angry voice turning into a pained yelp, still hopelessly muffled by his confinement, told Jacob everything he needed to know.  
  
"Bobby!" he barked. "That's _enough!_ " Jacob hadn't finished his quick demand before Bobby relented, making the squeeze on Dean a short-lived but painful ordeal. He was in power, and he wanted to make sure Dean knew it. Jacob could see it in his eyes.  
  
"Jake, dude," Bobby said, still confident as always. "I didn't feel any snaps, he's totally fine."  
  
Jacob froze, aggression in every inch of him, directed at that sheepish smirk. Bobby, acting like he'd done something trivial. Bobby, looking like he'd forgotten homework or knocked something over. Nothing in his expression showed remorse for the action of hurting someone just to shut him up.  
  
It struck Jacob like a physical blow that Bobby had just indirectly told him that he _knew what it felt like to break one of their bones._  
  
And Sam was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't take Jacob long at all to put together what happened to Sam and Dean...
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 24th, 2019 at 9pm EST


	8. An Unexpected Interruption

"Dean," Jacob said through his anger, keeping the words at a speaking volume by the grace of some higher power. "I will get you _both_ out. I promise. Just _hang on._ ”  
  
He couldn't say more. If he opened his mouth again, he knew he would start to yell at Bobby. And if he started to yell, his ire would push him forward and he'd attack before it was time. So Jacob watched and waited for an opportunity. Bobby wasn't concerned about him, but he would be.  
  
Jacob would make sure of it.  
  
Bobby rolled his eyes again at the 'dramatics,' as he'd called them. And then, with a very put upon sigh, he held up his free hand as if in surrender. For a moment, Jacob thought he might finally start to see reason, but it was a foolish hope. Instead, Bobby moved Dean to the pocket that Jacob knew already held an injured Sam, and dropped him in.  
  
It was all Jacob needed.  
  
With Dean no longer in danger of being crushed in a fist, Jacob's leash was off. Bobby didn't get a chance to utter a syllable more of his stupid ideas about making deals before Jacob was across the room and his fist collided with Bobby's face.  
  
Jacob was not an aggressive individual by nature. The calm he employed the majority of the time, the calm that Dean knew, was a deeply entrenched part of him. He'd been a part of the boxing team when he was in school, but even then he never had violent tendencies. True anger was rare, and many people that he knew had mistaken mere annoyance for the extent of the emotion. People like Bobby Loran.  
  
Bobby was not an aggressive individual by physique. He was nowhere near as bulky as Jacob, and he was three quarters of a foot shorter. He was no match for his old friend's strength, and the only reason he didn't topple after one punch was the strong hand wrapping around his upper arm to keep him from falling. A fall could hurt the captives on him, after all. Even in rage, Jacob had his mind in the right place.  
  
Bobby struggled weakly, and Jacob had little patience for it. Another punch landed right in the shorter man's gut, sending all semblance of breath out of his lungs and making him pitch forward dangerously. Jacob caught him again.  
  
One arm was squeezed around Bobby's smaller frame, pinning his arms to his sides, but it almost wasn't necessary. Bobby's head lolled back and forth and his eyes were out of focus.   
  
"Jesus, guys, I hope you're alright," Jacob muttered, looking for the pocket on Bobby's shirt. Jacob couldn't quite see into it from the angle he was holding Bobby upright, but he hoped he wouldn't find Sam and Dean shaken beyond easy recovery.  
  
He gently slipped his free hand into the pocket, seeing no resistance from Bobby. "Dean, Sam," he called. "Come on. I'm gonna make sure you're safe." He didn't move to scoop them up, even though his hand crowded the pocket with them in it. He couldn't see them. He didn't want to risk doing further damage if they could climb onto his hand themselves. Sam was hurt, and he didn’t know how much damage had been done to Dean as well, but Jacob was going to take them out of danger if it was the last thing he did.  
  
"It's over now."  
  


* * *

  
The moment Bobby’s hand opened up around him, Dean found himself falling straight down.  
  
He let out a cry of alarm, memories of the four foot drop he’d been dangled over slamming into him all over again. His arms thrown out to either side, he felt his fingers brush against fabric as he fell.  
  
_Fabric…?_  
  
That was all he managed to piece together of his world before he landed in a heap at the bottom of the pocket. Right onto Sam’s balled-up form, curled into the same position from earlier to try and cradle the arm Bobby had dangled him by. And snapped.  
  
“Sammy!” Dean scrambled off his brother, but there wasn’t an answer to his words. “C’mon, kid, you gotta be okay,” he almost begged, putting a hesitant hand on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Sam didn’t answer. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and as Dean rolled him over, an icy ball formed in his stomach.  
  
His brother’s arm was swollen, and he remembered that _snap!_ that echoed in the air when Sam was being dangled.  
  
“Dammit, no,” Dean hissed. Tears sprang to his eyes. He’d been unable to do _anything_ to help Sam. Useless.  
  
It all happened within seconds of landing. The entire world around them jolted, and Dean realized Jacob must have given in and _attacked_ , released that fury held at bay until Dean was out of sight.  
  
That was all Dean needed to know. As the giants dueled outside… a rather one-sided duel from the sound of things, he curled around Sam, trying to offer a second cushion for the broken arm. He let out a gasp of breath as a huge blow rattled through Bobby’s body, knowing if Jacob misjudged any of his attacks, they would die.  
  
As simple as that.  
  
Out there, beyond either brothers’ line of sight, two giants battled with strength that Sam and Dean could never hope to match. It was like having a front row seat to watch the forces of nature battle it out.  
  
Jacob didn’t let them down.  
  
Past the tears that insisted on clinging to his eyelashes, Dean saw the huge hand that shoved its way down into the depths of the pocket with them. He forced a smile on his face at the easily recognizable fingers that unfurled for them. Thicker and more powerful than Bobby's would ever be, but offering salvation to the brothers instead of more pain.  
  
“Didja see that Sammy?” he whispered to the knocked-out form of his younger brother. Dean cupped him closer as the huge voice rumbled over them, overpowering the harsh, frantic thuds of Bobby’s heart that pounded behind them. “He did it. He’s getting us out of this hellhole.” Jacob’s voice, though deeper and more powerful than Bobby’s, offered more comfort than any human could have before.  
  
As the fingers unfolded to reveal the welcoming, _safe_ palm, it didn’t matter anymore to Dean that they were putting themselves in a vulnerable position by going into his hand. Jacob had proven himself ten times over by standing with them against his own best friend from high school.  
  
He’d chosen them. They would do the same for him in a heartbeat.  
  
Jacob’s words tapered off overhead, and Dean realized he wasn’t about to pluck the pair up. He was letting them come to him, knowing Sam was hurt. He wouldn’t risk injuring Sam more in a careless motion any more than Dean would.  
  
“C’mon, kid. Time to go.” Dean shifted out of his protective ball, cupping Sam’s limp head against his chest. He made sure that the broken arm rested on Sam’s chest as he lifted him up in a one-person carry, one hand cupped under Sam’s knees and the other supporting his back. The pocket was difficult to walk on, like a huge hammock that swung as he tried to move, but he used Jacob’s fingers for support.  
  
Almost crawling onto the hand, Dean laid Sam down and carefully stretched him out, shifting them both away from any edge. Then he punched the hand, hoping Jacob could feel that. It was almost hard to believe after the earthquake that someone so big could be so gentle with them.  
  
Jacob felt the impact on his hand after several light flutters of movement against him. He curled his fingers inward for stability, feeling them brush a tiny leather jacket as he cupped the two brothers securely and lifted them out.  
  
He had been hoping, the entire time, to hear some utterance from Sam. Something that would tell him that even if the little guy was injured, he was _okay._ Then, the sight of his limp, unconscious form held steady on Jacob's hand by a fretting Dean confirmed his worries. Sam was out cold from whatever Bobby had done to him.  
  
It quickly became lucky for Bobby that both of Jacob's arms were occupied.  
  
"Dean," Jacob muttered, glad to see at least one of them was awake and aware. He lifted the hand towards his face, squinting at Sam. Zeroing in on the arm, he noticed immediately that something was _wrong._ Jacob had never dared to stare this closely at either brother, and now his first close up view of them was _this._ Sam’s arm was messed up, and Dean’s face was clouded with lingering fear for his brother.  
  
Jacob couldn't quite see if Sam was breathing. His eyes skated over Dean, checking the older brother for obvious injuries before meeting that tiny, green-eyed gaze. Even while Jacob held Bobby secure, the anger was hidden from his expression by the mounting worry in him. "Dean, is he ...?" he began, unsure of what he'd even ask. _Okay_ was the last word they could use to describe Sam.  
  
Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, trying to keep Sam stable as Jacob moved them closer to his face. He held Jacob’s gaze for a second before looking down again. “He, ah…”  
  
Sam was limp, but he was breathing, and that was the most important part. They’d figure the rest out.  
  
They had to.  
  
Dean brushed a hand protectively over Sam’s swollen arm. “His arm’s broken,” he told Jacob, “but he’s still breathing. It…” His voice choked up as he talked, remembering how friggin’ _useless_ he’d been while Sam dangled in midair. “ _He_ dangled Sam by his arm, and I heard a snap.” His tone didn’t leave any doubt who _he_ was. Dean didn’t deign to give Bobby his name, offended by how he shared names with _their_ Bobby.  
  
He cradled Sam close, blinking away any tears that threatened. They were safe. From the look of things, Jacob wasn’t about to let Bobby near them again. That uncharacteristic rage still coursed through his demeanor, but for the moment he was his usual gentle self with the brothers. He couldn’t risk his anger getting them more hurt. Not after what they'd gone through.  
  
Jacob took a slow breath, lowering his hand again to give the passengers on it a little more space when he saw how Sam's hair was ruffled in the breeze he created. Apologies leapt to his lips and he wanted to tell Dean he was sorry for leaving them vulnerable without even warning them about anything. He couldn't have known Bobby would show up, but he felt responsible for not leaving things safe for them when he left. They put a lot of trust in him, leaving the walls those many weeks ago to travel with him.  
  
Jacob couldn’t escape the looming notion that he’d let them down.  
  
The time to apologize for his mistakes would have to come later. For now, Jacob had to tie up a loose end and make sure Bobby never bothered Sam or Dean again. He turned towards the desk, ignoring Bobby's attempts to squirm away from him while he was distracted by the brothers’ plight.  
  
"Okay," he said, lowering his hand slowly to the surface of the desk. "I just need to have a _chat_ with my old buddy here," he explained, his tone making it clear that Bobby was no longer a real buddy of his. "Then we can head back."  
  
Dean waited until the hand was flat against the table (or, as flat as Jacob could make it) before carefully gathering up his little brother into his arms once more. “Hold on, Sammy,” he murmured to him as he stood, his boots unsteady on the plushy surface. Sam normally stood taller than Dean, but his injury made him seem small and fragile. Like when they were younger, and Sam curled up close to Dean and tried to hide from how huge the world around them had become.  
  
This time when Dean moved, he could feel the strain in his own body from the abuse it had gone through. Those seconds closed in Bobby’s fist, with Jacob and salvation only a few feet away, he’d been sure it was all over. He would die before being rescued, and never know if Sam would be okay.  
  
He might be alive, but he was feeling every second of that crushing grip. The bruise on his shoulder from being treated so roughly before Jacob had arrived had already blossomed up his shoulder, and a dark splotch could be seen creeping up his neck from underneath the collar of his jacket. The one on his chest would be no better, and he assumed that more would follow soon enough.  
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
What _did_ matter, Dean held in his arms. Sam had relaxed a little in sleep and his breathing had evened out, and Dean could only hope that it was because he was out of the stifling confines of the pocket. His younger brother’s body was no longer being tossed haphazardly about with any attempts to cushion him from the shock just falling short of doing any good.  
  
Dean lowered Sam to the surface of the desk, straightening out his body and making sure to keep the arm in place. Then he looked up at Jacob, and nodded.  
  
“Do what you have to.”  
  
He already knew what was going to happen.  
  
Bobby understood it, too. He knew what was coming for him, and he tried his best to duck out of Jacob's grip. But once Sam and Dean were safely off the hand, it gripped the front of Bobby's shirt to hold him in place while Jacob turned.  
  
When he shoved Bobby back with everything he had in him, he really didn't expect him to stumble as far as he did before he finally toppled over. The guy was pitifully unprepared for the move. Jacob didn't give him time to recover before he crossed the same distance, keeping the fight well away from the desk where Sam and Dean waited.  
  
Bobby curled a hand into a fist and looked like he was ready to hop up and hit Jacob in the gut. His livid eyes promised a lot more violence than Jacob knew he was actually capable of, while Jacob's own expression was subdued. He knocked Bobby's punch aside with one fist and landed a blow to his cheek with the other in one fluid motion. Bobby crumpled to the floor like a sack of hammers.  
  
"Jacob, what the fuck," Bobby slurred, pushing himself up and spitting blood out of his mouth in surprise; he'd bitten his tongue or his cheek.  
  
"People aren't your fucking playthings, Bobby," Jacob answered in a surprisingly normal volume, though his tone held nothing but contempt. He stooped to drag Bobby to his feet again, ignoring a weak punch to his side. Jacob was prepared and more riled up than he’d been in a while. Bobby might as well have punched a sandbag.  
  
"I didn' mean t'break his arm," Bobby protested, trying to shove himself away to get distance between himself and his attacker. "Stop!"  
  
Jacob had a ridiculously easy time holding onto the other guy. "Really? You think you're excused because you _didn't mean to?!_ What world are you living in? You don't get to treat people like that. You took them against their will and hurt them just because you could, you goddamn psychopath."  
  
Bobby scowled. "Jake, let me go and get out of my hou--"  
  
Jacob cut him off with a tight squeeze on his arm, turning Bobby's self-righteous demeanor into a pitiful, pained one as his shoulders bunched up and his hand curled into a tense fist. Jacob could break his wrist right then and there, but he relented to shove Bobby into the closed door. There was a satisfying slam as his head smacked against it.  
  
"We're going," Jacob assured him, stalking forward and pinning Bobby to the door with an arm shoved harshly at his collarbone. Jacob didn't often use his height to advantage on purpose, but now he loomed. He made himself as frightening as strangers sometimes thought he was, and he could see it reflected in Bobby’s eyes. "You're not going to mess with my friends or _anyone else_ again, or I'm gonna be back, you piece of garbage."  
  
Jacob drew back a fist, ready to land the final blow on Bobby and knock his lights out like he'd wanted to do since he’d seen Dean dangling helplessly from his hand.  
  
Neither human expected that blow to be interrupted.  
  
“Hey, Jacob!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who could have stopped Jacob from finishing this!!
> 
> There are certain chapters I can't read all the way through without ending up in a tearful mess, and this is one of them.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** July 28th, 2019 at 9pm EST


	9. The Biker Wannabee and the Asshat

Boots planted firmly in place, Dean stood at the edge of the desk, doing his best not to look down. His arms were crossed over his chest, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he stood under four inches tall, he would have cut an intimidating figure.  
  
Sam was resting peacefully behind him. Dean had only risked leaving his side once he was certain that Sam wouldn’t thrash and injure himself more.  
  
Dean stared up towards Jacob, internally amazed at the transformation in their friend. He’d never expected the guy to be able to channel such a rage after all of his efforts to remain relaxed and grounded, a placid human that they could trust. He was proud of the way Jacob was standing up for himself and them against one of his old best friends.  
  
“Mind if I throw in my five cents to this ‘chat?’ ”  
  
Jacob blinked a few times, surprised by the interruption. It derailed his rage enough for him to shake most of it off, and instead of landing the punch he'd prepared, he gripped the front of Bobby's shirt again.  
  
"You got it," he replied, getting a completely bamboozled expression from Bobby, before yanking him towards the desk.  
  
Jacob couldn't risk Bobby being so close to the small Winchesters without making sure he was restrained. He nudged the chair out of the way so he could pin Bobby to the top of the desk, a strong arm planted against his collarbone again. His other hand restrained Bobby's wrist so he couldn't make any grabs.  
  
It was almost like Jacob was leaning casually over the desk to talk to Dean. The key difference was that he was propped up on a person instead of the desk itself. Bobby's knees wobbled before his legs stopped trying to hold him up, and he lay awkwardly on the desk with the edge digging into his back.  
  
Bobby turned his head to the side as much as he could to angle a glare at Dean while he was still a short distance away. "Why the fuck would I listen to you, you tiny freak?" He squirmed again, trying to break loose from Jacob's hold. It had no effect at all; even without taking Jacob’s strength into account, his _weight_ was too much for Bobby to move.  
  
"Lemme just fix up your hearing," Jacob snipped, emphasizing the last word by letting Bobby lift himself up just enough for Jacob to slam him back down into the desk again, dazing the much weaker human. It caused a tremor and Jacob's gaze immediately went to Dean. The quake had sent him tumbling.  
  
"Sorry," Jacob said sheepishly, his brow furrowing with worry.  
  
Dean picked himself up from the surface, shaken by the quake. It was hard to believe how much strength Jacob had at his disposal. “Don’t mention it,” he said, too busy staring Bobby down to worry about being knocked about. Sam hadn’t stirred, and that was the important part.  
  
Bobby looked dazed and ready to stay where he was without struggling much more. Jacob was speaking in a language he understood all too well. He’d just tried to hammer the _big is better_ mantra into Dean for the last hellish hour.  
  
Jacob sighed with relief, glad he hadn't done any further damage to his small friend without even thinking. He could see bruises peeking out from the edges of Dean's clothes, and if he wasn't already burning out, he'd be boiling with more anger for what Bobby had done.  
  
Something came back to him when he glanced at Bobby's dazed face. Jacob glanced at the hand he had secured in his grip, and found a small cut on Bobby's palm, already clotted over and done bleeding.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot," he muttered, releasing Bobby's wrist long enough to reach into his pocket and retrieve the pencil lead case with two small knives stashed in it. Bobby didn't have the wherewithal to capitalize on the lapse, and in seconds Jacob had popped the lid off the case with his thumb, set it down near Dean, and secured Bobby once more.  
  
"Okay, dude, he's all yours," Jacob said with a smirk, knowing without question that Dean would be glad for a chance to give Bobby a piece of his mind.  
  
Dean’s lips quirked up into a smile, and he bent down to snag the pencil case. The two knives slid into his hand, and he secured Sam’s in the sheath he had stashed in his leather jacket.  
  
He brushed a hand calmly over the murky, bloodstained silver as he strolled closer to Bobby. There wasn’t an iota of fear in him as he looked up at the human who had caused them such grief and pain in such a short amount of time. He shook his head. “Jacob, I know I said you made a terrible first impression, but compared to this guy, yours was nothing.”  
  
Dean halted a few inches from Bobby’s face, running his fingers over the blade. “So. Are my knife tricks still _cute?_ ”  
  
Bobby had to blink several times to focus, Dean stood so close. Even then, things were blurry thanks to the way his cheek was swelling and bruising from Jacob's decisive strikes. Bobby sneered at Dean, but didn't deign to give him a response.  
  
"God, Jake, I get it, okay? Will you just fucking let me go and leave?" he complained, trying to turn his head to look up at Jacob. Jacob didn't let him.  
  
"Dude. Never take your eye off your opponent's weapon," Jacob chided, ignoring Bobby's demands in favor of the derisive comment.  
  
Dean had moved so he was standing right next to Bobby’s cheek, trusting Jacob would keep the jackass pinned and motionless. He had his knife just a hair away from Bobby’s big blue eye, waiting for them to turn and look at him. When Bobby’s gaze angled back towards him, his eyes widened and he stiffened, nearly flinching back. Jacob ensured he couldn’t go anywhere, not while Dean was that close to him.  
  
“Y’know, you’re a real piece of work,” Dean said in a far more dangerous voice. “Breaking my brother’s arm. Snatching us up and thinkin’ we’re _sprites._ ” He touched his blade against the skin right under Bobby’s eye. “Move, you lose the eye,” he warned. He wasn’t in the mood to play games with Sam unconscious and his own body showing signs of the abuse.  
  
“Tell me about these sprites you confused us with.”  
  
With Bobby hopelessly pinned, it didn't matter that Dean's knife was small compared to him. Bobby knew well that it was sharp, enough to cut out his eye if Dean really wanted to make good on that promise. It would be a longer process, and that would make it more painful.  
  
"Fuck," Bobby muttered, afraid to even blink lest he get stabbed in the face in the single instant he wasn't looking.  
  
His face felt like it was stretched too thin over the swelling bruises on it. With Dean so close, Bobby could see a few bruises on him, too, and they looked much worse. It was astounding; at this angle, Dean almost looked _normal_ sized.  
  
It lent him even more intimidation. Bobby pursed his lips, beyond pissed at his defeat, but he knew he was cornered. Somehow, he'd lost control over Jacob, and that was really the key to the whole thing. Jacob was the strongest one in the room right now, as he so casually demonstrated.  
  
"Well I figured you'd have guessed by now, _Tinkerbell,_ " Bobby answered sullenly, remembering the jab Dean had made earlier. "They're little people kinda like you but with wings. My family has been looking for them for generations."  
  
Dean blinked in surprise, but didn’t waver. _More_ people their size? In all the time since they’d been cursed, they’d never heard of anyone else, past the fairy tales and myths they’d grown up with before shrinking. He tried to imagine having wings, and could only come up with a list of reasons why a flying Dean would be a bad idea, starting with the fear of heights.  
  
“Never heard of ‘em,” Dean said dismissively. “Sounds like a load of crap they told you growing up. Didn’t take you for the type to believe in Santa Claus.”  
  
In his head, he didn’t rule out the possibility that the sprites were real, but he had no intention of letting Bobby know that. Not after the way he’d broken Sam and almost crushed Dean. This guy needed to be kept away from anyone smaller and more vulnerable than he was, whatever it took.  
  
With a scoff, Dean laughed. “What the hell makes you believe in fairies, anyway?”  
  
"Oh, I dunno, maybe the fact that my great great grandad met some," Bobby snipped back, before he could stop and reconsider snipping at someone holding a knife to his eye. Multiple journals in their family heirlooms held story after story about interactions with the small winged folk. As the family story went, Bobby's ancestor never did get around to telling his son how to find them.  
  
There was a lot of speculation about the family owned land a few states over, housing reserved areas and dense forest in addition to the campground they rented out to the public.  
  
_Jesus Christ,_ Jacob thought, a look of distaste coming over his face. He was starting to get it. Bobby thought that, because some ancestor of his had supposedly seen these 'sprites,' he was entitled to them now. That was why he thought nothing of taking Sam and Dean; they were just property to him, not friends, regardless of how clearly intelligent they showed themselves to be.  
  
"He wrote about runts like you enough to fill a few books," Bobby grumbled resentfully. His temples throbbed with a headache.  
  
“Kid, there ain’t no one like me,” Dean said, unable to get the bad taste out of his mouth at the thought of a person like Bobby having access to journals about people Dean’s size. Something like that could be exploited. Real or imagined, information about the sprites could lead to people searching closer to home and maybe finding Dean’s people, especially if the book proved to be true.  
  
The image of Walt and Mallory being dragged from their unassuming home filled him with dread. A hand bigger than Jacob’s, curling around Mallory’s slight form. Walt trying to strike out with his razor and doing as much good as Dean had done against Bobby.  
  
It would be a massacre if their existence ever became public. They were too easily exploited in the grand scheme of things. Too easily stolen away from their lives and trapped.  
  
He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. For now, it was more important to get Sam out of there. They’d wasted enough time on Bobby.  
  
Dean applied pressure with his knife, stopping just shy of breaking through the skin. “You listen up, asshat. If we ever find out you’ve been messin’ with anyone my size again, we’ll be back. So you be good… Bobby.” He couldn’t stop his lip from curling at the name.  
  
Bobby's derisive response was lost to the sting of that knife poking at him. He winced in surprise and felt the minor shift of his face cause it to break his skin at last. It was probably a tiny prick of the skin, but so close to his eye, the nerves were more than sensitive enough for him to notice.  
  
"What the fuck," he hissed, glaring at Dean for all he was worth through eyes that were now both injured. One was swelling shut and the other now sported the small cut. There was a defeated air in his demeanor that ruined the effect.  
  
"Whatever," he spat. "Jacob, get the hell out. And take this biker wannabe with you."  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes at Bobby's pouting. As always, he was graceless in defeat. But, before he moved to let Bobby up, he glanced at Dean. "Any parting words?"  
  
Dean stared at Bobby, disgust in his eyes. “No. We’re done here. He knows we’ll be watching. But now that you mention it…”  
  
With one smooth motion, he slashed with his knife, from under Bobby’s eye all the way across the bridge of his nose. The skin parted with ease before the honed edge of the blade, blood welling up in the slice.  
  
“That’s for my little brother,” Dean hissed under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Announcement:** Due to a recent death in the family, there will not be a chapter posted on Wednesday. Posting will resume Sunday, August 4th.
> 
> So, we had several guesses for Chase, and one for Bobby's mom, but as it happens, the person who interrupted the final blow was none other than Dean himself! Turns out, he has a few things of his own to say to the jerk. 
> 
> **Next:** August 4th, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	10. Safety at Last

Dean wiped the blood coating his knife off onto Bobby’s skin, leaving him with a smear below the cut. Then, he turned and didn’t look back, walking towards Sam. It was time to go, and he needed to gather up his taller brother. That arm needed to be set as soon as they were out of danger, and he didn’t want to have to rebreak it. Sam had already been through far more than he ever deserved.  
  
Bobby's eyes were shut and he winced, so he didn't see the faint smirk on Jacob's face. He was biting back curses from the painful cut, but then Jacob suddenly lifted his weight off the desk and his pinned former friend. Bobby's eyes shot open and he nearly flailed himself right to the floor, but Jacob dragged him back to a shaky stand before he could shake the desk any further and jostle Sam or Dean. He wouldn’t be allowed to hurt either of them again if Jacob could help it.  
  
"God _dammit,_ he cut my fa--" Bobby's complaint stopped with a decisive blow to the side of his head. Jacob wasted no time at all shutting him up. His head turned to the side and, after less than a second of his eyelids trying to stay open, Bobby fell limp, held up only by Jacob's grip on one of his arms.  
  
Jacob shoved Bobby over to his bed, letting him fall onto it and promptly putting him out of mind. He returned to the desk, all traces of anger rapidly filtering out of his expression and demeanor. Like a floodgate had closed, Jacob’s tension slowly lessened while he kept his eye on them. His anger had burned out and all that was left was concern and relief and remorse.  
  
He lowered a hand to the desk near Sam. "Alright, Dean," he said in a tight voice that he made a valiant effort to keep steady, "the Impala's out front. We gotta get back and get you guys fixed up."  
  
Dean brushed Sam’s hair out of his face. “Yeah.” He licked his lips, his mouth dry from looking at Sam’s swollen arm. It had swelled up even further while he dealt with Bobby. Worry filled him at the sight, praying the lessons he’d received from John Winchester and Walt Watch both about setting an arm had stuck.  
  
He’d _have_ to set it, after all. There was no one else his size to help him, and it would be too easy for Jacob to hurt the little limb.  
  
Gathering Sam back up into his arms, Dean went back over to the huge hand waiting patiently for them. He knew now that they’d never have to fear that hand. It was safety, in a world where even old friends could turn into dangerous enemies.  
  
He stepped up onto the warm surface, his boots finding stable ground in the center of the huge, welcoming palm. Dean laid Sam out flat, gently positioning his limbs so they wouldn’t get hurt when Jacob moved.  
  
Before telling Jacob they were all set, Dean hesitated, then looked up to meet the concerned eyes above. “Jacob… thanks for coming for us. We couldn’t have gotten out of this one on our own.”  
  
Jacob nodded after a surprised pause. Dean wouldn’t often admit to his own limitations. It was so rare to see much emotion out of Dean (other than general annoyance). Now, worry for Sam and relief that they were okay weighed heavily in Dean's grateful voice. Jacob was gladder by the minute that he'd arrived when he did.  
  
"Anytime, Dean. I'm not gonna let anyone take off with you guys unless you _want_ to go," he promised, attempting a smile. Bobby's actions were unforgivable. He'd shown no remorse for what he did. Jacob had kept Dean trapped once, and he still hated that he was the first one to do something like that to him, but he at least recognized that it was wrong.  
  
Once he was sure they were secure on his hand, he lifted it from the desk and brought it close to his chest. He intended to do what it took to show that Dean's trust in him was still worth something, despite his mistake.  
  
Since Bobby was home alone for the day, and knocked out soundly, Jacob met no resistance when he left. He moved carefully with every step, trying not to jar Sam's broken arm and make things worse. By the time he climbed into the Impala, a pair of injured Winchesters cupped in one hand, his nerves were almost shot.  
  
It was a little awkward working with just one hand, but he didn't want to risk putting them on the bench seat and he certainly wouldn't risk a pocket. Not after what they'd been through. As far as Jacob knew, they’d never want to go near a pocket or even his hood again. Besides, it wasn't the first time he'd had to go through a task with one hand occupied by tiny passengers.  
  
His hand was shaking slightly as he slid the key into the ignition, almost dropping it. Jacob took a slow, deep breath, suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion now that the anger left him. It was a draining emotion, one that he didn't feel very often. "There we go," he muttered, when he finally got the car started. The engine almost purred, idling while Jacob glanced down to check on Sam and Dean.  
  
Jacob wasn’t the only one exhausted. Dean had one hand on Sam’s shoulder, holding him in place from rolling or being jarred from the human’s movements. He was staring into space at the huge steering wheel that stretched out larger than their homes at the motel had been.  
  
The purr of the engine put warmth back in his chest, and Dean felt his shoulders slump. The pains of Bobby’s cruelty were setting in, leaving him sore as the bruises were surely spreading out. He couldn’t wait to get back and check out Sam. Fix that arm and make sure he was as comfortable as they could make him. The yell of pain right before Sam lost consciousness played out in his mind, over and over. The heart-wrenching echo reminded him that he couldn’t _stop_ it, and now Sam was hurt.  
  
When nothing happened after the car was turned on, Dean twisted around in his seat on Jacob’s hand to look straight up and meet those kind brown eyes. He couldn’t hide a wince of pain, but it was covered up immediately.  
  
“Ready to get this show on the road?” he prodded Jacob, much gentler than his normal jabs. The teen was staring down at the brothers with such concern, it was impossible for even Dean to get annoyed at that.  
  
Jacob blinked. "Right." He shook himself out of the daze and tore his eyes away from the small, fragile people on his hand. He could see how Sam's arm looked so much puffier than the other one, swollen around a broken bone. A bone that a _human_ had snapped so easily he didn't even intend to do it.  
  
Even Dean was in terrible shape after all the abuse, but as far as Jacob could tell there were no broken bones. The brothers had been _tortured,_ their size shoved mercilessly in their faces by a kid who didn't care. All Bobby knew was that he was in power when he held someone smaller in his hands. He was practically drunk on the feeling by the time Jacob had arrived, dangling Dean from his fingers without a care.  
  
Jacob's stomach was roiling. He should have gotten there sooner. Hell, he never should have left them so wide open to an attack like that. He should have warned them, or set up a lock on the door, _something._ Bobby had taken them with ease because they weren't prepared; Jacob knew well that if they'd had a chance to hide, no one would find them unless they wanted to be found. That was their specialty.  
  
He was in a daze as he pulled the Impala away from Bobby's house, musing absently that this might be the last time he did so. Years of friendship had been severed in one remarkably short but intense series of events. The weightless brothers on his hand had earned more loyalty than Bobby ever bothered to, and Jacob regretted nothing. He didn’t want to be friends with someone who would hurt a guy like Sam, so mild and careful, or Dean, determined and brave.  
  
All because they were smaller than a hand.  
  
When he got home, his mother's car was gone from the driveway. It was a relief; he was too drained to act casual with her. He kept Sam and Dean close to him while he made his way inside, concealing them with one huge hand. Dean didn't argue his decision, too weary and worried about his little brother to pay attention to anything else. After grabbing the first aid kit from the hall bathroom, Jacob made his way up the stairs to his room where the terror had all started.  
  
Sitting at the desk and nudging John Winchester's journal out of the way, Jacob finally spoke again. "Dean, what do you need?" He opened up the lid of the first aid kit with his free hand, rifling through the supplies within without really seeing them. "Anything that's not here?"  
  
Peering off the edge of Jacob’s hand, Dean squinted to make out the supplies that Jacob was going through on the desk. “We’ll need gauze, something to hold Sam’s arm straight, maybe toothpicks…” He trailed off for a second, trying to figure out what he’d need to use.  
  
He realized he didn’t even know how bad the broken arm _was_. If the bone was sticking out from the skin, their job would get a thousand times worse. “C’mere, kid,” he said quietly, propping Sam up on the hand. “I’ve gotta see how bad it is.” He didn’t speak for Jacob’s sake, but for Sam’s, hoping that hearing his voice might help. If Sam was trapped in a shock-induced nightmare, he might think they were still prisoners. His mind locked him away from them for now, the only defense it could muster against the overwhelming pain.  
  
Dean carefully maneuvered Sam’s jacket off, first from the uninjured arm, then from the injured one. It was good that their clothes tended to be slightly too large, and the swollen arm didn’t impede his progress.  
  
Tossing the jacket to the side of Jacob’s palm, Dean winced at the sight of the arm. Dark, foreboding splotches covered its entire length, and Sam’s forearm was the worst for the swelling. He touched carefully at the wound, and Sam tried to flinch away even in sleep. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll fix you up,” Dean soothed his little brother. The bone wasn’t showing at all.   
  
He could set it.  
  
Dean glanced up at Jacob, mind racing. “Gauze, toothpicks, fabric to make a sling with. Ice if you’ve got it. Make sure it’s wrapped in a towel or napkin. Something for Sam to rest on that’s softer than the desk.” His voice switched naturally over to commanding, ready to do what he had to to help Sam out.  
  
Jacob nodded, thinking over the list and where he'd find the supplies that weren't in the kit. He could at least fetch whatever they needed, even if he was pretty useless to actually help Sam. Jacob was simply too big.  
  
He nearly stood to retrieve the items, but then remembered that he had yet to set Sam and Dean down. Jacob was flustered. He moved his hand to the surface of the desk so Dean could carry Sam off of it.  
  
Once they were safely on the desk, Jacob stood again, hating how little Sam looked in that state, almost curled up like a child in his older brother's arms.   
  
Jacob's first order of business was to grab one of his clean shirts, folding it hastily and setting it near the brothers on the desk. "I'll grab the other stuff. Should be gauze in the first aid kit but everything else is downstairs. I'll come right back."  
  
He backed off, seeing the pair dwindle as he got farther away from them. Even he was too big. It could have been _him_ that did this, if he’d made any careless movements. Before that fact could floor him, he turned to exit the room. The door was closed softly, and Jacob didn't step away from it until he heard the click of the latch catching. It was too bad he couldn't put a lock on it without looking weird. He couldn't prevent someone from walking right in when he was away.  
  
He'd just have to make sure he didn't let today repeat itself. He wasn't sure how, but he'd find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The **[poll for which story posts next](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/V3F8CHH)** is on until tomorrow, so get in your votes!
> 
> **Next:** August 7th, 2019 at 9pm EST
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	11. Shades

Jacob hastily collected the supplies Dean requested, and despite wandering his house in a daze to retrieve them, returned in under five minutes with a glass of ice cubes and the rest of the items they needed.  
  
"I got what you asked for," he announced as he came back, gently setting the pile down next to the first aid kit. He fished an ice cube out of the glass, wrapping it up in an old bandanna he'd found. "You can cut something out of this for a sling, right?"  
  
Dean glanced at it while he gathered up the toothpicks. “I might have you do that.” He waved vaguely towards the first aid kit. “I could probably manage the scissors, but it wouldn’t be easy.” The scissors were around three-fourths his height, making it possible, but hard. The strain in his arms argued against pushing his limits any further than he had to. His knife might make short work of the bandanna as well, but it wouldn’t be as clean a cut as Jacob could manage.  
  
Laying out the toothpicks next to Sam, Dean went over to the ice cube. It was the size of either brother’s torso, but it would do for his needs. He carried it to Sam’s side, gently laying it next to the broken arm and placing it against the exposed skin. That would hopefully soothe some of the pain while he got the gauze ready.  
  
“Now,” Dean said to Jacob as he started to unravel the gauze. “I’m gonna need your help cutting things down. Think you can handle it?”  
  
Jacob nodded, relieved that there was _something_ he could do for Sam. The ice cube that Dean claimed was already melting into the shirt that Sam rested on, and it was still ridiculously large by comparison. Jacob was simply too big to get close to such a delicate injury. That arm was more fragile than the wing of a baby bird, the bones in it thinner than nature had ever dreamt of existing.  
  
He followed Dean's instructions carefully, used to it after the weeks fixing the Impala with Dean in charge. The little hunter had no qualms about telling Jacob what he needed him to do, and Jacob had no qualms about doing them. They made a decent team that way, even despite the nagging worry for Sam weighing both of them down.  
  
With a sling cut from the bandanna and Sam's arm set, thin strips of gauze, also cut carefully by Jacob under Dean's close watch, were added. Sam, thankfully unconscious for most of the careful process, could heal properly now, thanks to his attentive big brother's work.  
  
Jacob let out a breath. Then, his eyes finally left Sam's unconscious form to settle on Dean. Bruises, nasty ones, peeked out from under the collar of his jacket. Jacob had seen the man move gingerly more than once, clearly still hurt from Bobby's abuse.  
  
"Okay, Dean," he said gently. "Sam's taken care of. Now you gotta take care of yourself." The sound of his proud voice pitching into a yelp of pain might never fade from Jacob's memory. Dean wasn’t _supposed_ to sound helpless like that.  
  
A stubborn cast fell over Dean’s face, considering his own injuries trivial compared to what Sam had gone through. All he had was bruises and some strain, after all, and that would heal up in no time. He refused to admit even to himself how bad it had been, and how close he’d come to being broken.  
  
“I’m fine,” Dean said gruffly, shifting the ice cube so it also rested against a part of Sam’s face for the sake of something to do. He didn’t want to look at Jacob and see the concern there. He didn’t need it. Sam was the one who’d ended up hurt because of Dean’s oversight. If he’d thought about their situation with a clear mind, they’d never have been so exposed in the first place.  
  
Maybe if he hadn’t argued so much with Bobby, Sam never would have gotten hurt.  
  
Jacob expected a reaction like that. In fact, he'd prepared himself a little for it, so he didn't flounder over what he'd say like he might have weeks ago. Dean was stubborn, but Jacob was learning through observation what might work on him.  
  
Before speaking, he leaned down on the desk, resting his chin on one arm to get closer to Dean and do his best to not seem like he was talking down to the little guy. It was the best way he could convey his intent, even if he was still higher than Dean's eye level.  
  
"Dean. I know you wanna focus on Sam right now, and it makes total sense," he began. "But if you're gonna keep helping him, you gotta take care of yourself, too. Sam's gonna be okay now. I'm gonna make sure no one like Bobby comes near either of you, okay? Sam needs you to get better. At least put a little ice on to help."  
  
Dean held his stubborn stance for a moment more, but his eyes strayed to Sam. His features softened at the way Sam’s face was no longer scrunched in pain. They were safe, and it was time to heal. For _both_ of them.  
  
If Sam knew he was resisting tending to his own injuries, he’d _never_ hear the end of it, that was certain.  
  
“Fine,” Dean muttered, sitting down on the shirt with his knees bent. Even that taxed the limit of his flexibility with the strain on his muscles. It would feel even worse in the morning, if past experiences were any indication. And they didn’t have any painkillers to take. The dosage would be impossible to gauge, and the wrong dose could do more harm than good.  
  
He started by tugging off one boot and placing it to the side, followed by the other. As he pulled at the socks to check his feet first, Dean paused. He jabbed a finger in Jacob’s direction. “Just don’t go blowing my socks away! They’re hard enough to hang onto as it is.”  
  
Jacob let himself smile, glad to see Dean actually thinking about himself for once. For all Jacob knew, Dean had a cracked rib and was somehow weathering it. It wouldn’t be too much of a surprise, knowing how determined Dean could be. He was so guarded with everything, and it was near impossible to get him to admit that he was hurt or needed help.  
  
He rolled his eyes, too, at Dean's stubborn grousing. "I won't blow away your socks," he promised in a low murmur. Of course he'd find something to gripe about. It was a good sign, a normal behavior from the leader of their group. Jacob would worry if Dean wasn't getting back to his usual self. Now that the danger was behind them, they could try to move forward, and feel better about the outlook.  
  
Jacob sat up again while Dean checked himself over to give him some space. There were still more ice cubes in the glass he'd brought, and more than enough material left in the bandana. Jacob busied himself making a larger ice pack, wrapping several layers of cloth around the remaining cubes and knotting it up. The result was something the brothers could lean against if they wanted to. He looked over the ice pack he'd hastily crafted, weighing it absently in his hand and making sure it wouldn't fall apart, before glancing up to check on Dean.   
  
Dean ended up stuffing his socks in his boots, just in case. Jacob might not notice, but when he breathed, it was more like a steady breeze that could turn into a gust with a single gasp of surprise. Dean had no intention of losing any of his clothing. Considering how hard it was to find it in his size, he needed to guard every article.  
  
Mallory would make them more, he knew, if they ever went back. His heart went out to his adopted family, with a regret that they’d left without really saying goodbye. The brothers had gotten caught up in the whirlwind of finding their way back to Bobby Singer, followed by repairing the Impala and hunting itself. Now, for Sam’s sake, they’d have to keep themselves in one place for a while. He needed to heal.  
  
They’d have some explaining to do when they returned, and a really big human to introduce. Jacob had earned that, at least, after all he’d done for them. He would probably be thrilled at the chance.  
  
Checking over his feet, Dean deemed them free of any breaks. His hands went to his ankles next, making sure Bobby hadn’t screwed anything up while he was carelessly dangled. He’d have to do the same check once Sam woke up. It was hard to see if there was any hidden injuries on his younger brother without having Sam awake to let them know what hurt.  
  
Dean tugged the hem of his pants up, continuing his check with his legs. There were bruises showing, but nothing severe. He passed quickly over his legs. All that was there was the strain from almost being crushed, and that would take time.  
  
The harder part was his upper body. As Jacob waited with the ice pack, Dean stripped off his own jacket, wincing at the sharp pains that came from the awkward movements. He discarded the jacket to the side and pulled his shirt over his head, wanting to be able to _see_ the damage for himself. The cool air of the room caressed his bare chest, and he couldn’t stop a shiver, pulling his arms in close for a moment while he adjusted. His ears turned slightly red, knowing that for the first time, Jacob could see exactly how small he was even compared to Sam. Usually Dean could hide that under his leather jacket. Bobby’s scathing remarks from earlier about his height cut deep.  
  
 _What more do you need? I_ know _I’m the shortest one here, isn’t that enough?!_  
  
And it was more than that. He was the scrawniest one around, too. The steady diet they had available now was helping him fill in a little, but Sam was built up stronger because of the way Dean always gave him the food if there wasn't enough to go around.  
  
Small. Scrawny. _Weak._  
  
Dean heaved a deep breath, then started to pat his chest down, wincing when he found tender areas. He needed to make sure all his ribs were intact.  
  
Jacob stared in shock at the bruises covering Dean's upper body before searching for something else to look at. Dean, proud, stubborn Dean, hardly looked like himself. Jacob had gotten better at seeing the expressions on tiny faces, and he caught a glimpse of Dean's self-consciousness before he looked away. Jacob wouldn’t be the one to draw any more attention to the injuries than he already had. Dean could and did take care of himself, he just needed the prompt to do so sometimes.  
  
"You should use this," he said quietly, setting his bundle of ice and cloth on the shirt near Dean and Sam without getting too invasive. His usual rule was not to be close enough that they could swipe at him with their knives in one lunge; it kept a decent bubble of space around them when he wasn’t aiming to lift them up, and it was respectful to their nerves around someone so big. "It should help with some of that."  
  
With that taken care of, Jacob absently gathered up the other supplies in a pile, rolling up the gauze and stashing it in the kit once more.  
  
"Dean, I'm ... really sorry," he managed to get out, his eyes stuck on the small scissors lying on the desk. "I should've ... I dunno." A lame shrug punctuated his softly spoken words. "I had no idea Bobby could be _this much_ of a ..." When the right word to describe his former friend simply didn't come to mind, Jacob sighed instead. "So, I'm sorry that I didn't get back sooner."  
  
Dean rolled his shoulders, stretching both arms over his head as he finished his self-check. Nothing was broken, just bruised, and he let the rumble of Jacob’s voice die off in the background as he stared at nothing.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” he said, surprising himself as much as Jacob when he spoke without warning. “You couldn’t have known what he’d do when he found us.” Dean gave a small shrug. “Usually, we got warnings about being captured or killed… but straight up torment like that? Just because he could?”  
  
Dean tilted his head up, trying to meet the ashamed brown eyes up above. “Jacob,” he said seriously. “We don’t blame you. I don’t, and I sure as hell know Sam won’t when he wakes up. If anything, it’s _our_ fault. We’re the ones that are supposed to think about stuff like that. Being out in the open… we should have been more on guard. We got lax, and we paid the price for it.”  
  
He shifted over to the ice pack, inwardly glad Jacob had placed it so close. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him stiff and pained, with deep exhaustion clawing at the edge of awareness. Dean leaned back, groaning at the blessed cool when his back touched.  
  
Jacob nodded with pursed lips, but his brow was still pinched with worry over Dean's painful state. He glanced over at Dean and Sam once more, battered and _hurt_ because of something someone else had done to them on a whim. "Maybe, but just so you know ... What he actually did to you is _not_ your fault. Bobby showed his true colors all on his own."  
  
Maybe Bobby hadn't been like that all his life, and maybe he had. Jacob knew for certain that he'd never seen such a deep disregard for another person's feelings in his old friend until that day.  
  
With his eyes opened to a sad and frightening truth, Jacob was newly determined. Maybe it was Sam and Dean's responsibility to look out for themselves and consider when they spent time out in the open; they lived in a different world with different rules. But that didn't mean it wasn't also Jacob's responsibility to look out for his friends, too. They'd come out into his world, where he knew the rules. In doing that, they'd entrusted him with their very lives. He'd have to make an effort to help however he could and prove he'd earned that trust.  
  
For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait. With that in mind, Jacob rested his head on his crossed arms, ready to wait for Sam to wake up so they could ask if he had received any other injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bros are back, but this day definitely left a mark on Dean as much as it did Sam.
> 
> The story poll is over, so there will be an announcement this week for the new story! Keep an eye out for it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Last:** August 11th, 2019 at 9pm EST


	12. A Decision is Made

It was only about fifteen, twenty minutes later before Dean had to crawl back over to where he’d discarded his shirt and jacket. The room wasn’t particularly cold, but resting on a seat of ice was giving him more chill in his bones than he could keep up with. His movements were stiff and jerky as he put his black t-shirt back on over his head, inwardly glad for the excuse to cover up the sight of his bruises and how thin he was.  
  
He was doing much better than when Jacob had first found them, at least. With the help of all the extra food that was around without even having to ask, they could both eat a steady and much healthier diet. Dean had even caved to temptation a few times and asked for meals of his own, hesitant since he wasn’t used to that option after years of barely scraping by. Sam refused to do the same, content to eat whatever was provided for them without complaint. Jacob never made a big deal out of either choice, making it easier on them to give in and ask.  
  
Once covered, Dean rested against the ice again, his eyes trailing automatically over to where Sam was laid out on the t-shirt they were using. Jacob, as big as he was leaning on the desk, was reassuring to have around and watching over them after everything that had happened. He always knew how careful he needed to be, and they trusted him. The slight breeze that ruffled Sam’s hair was a welcome reminder of his presence even when Dean wasn’t looking his direction.  
  
Another five minutes passed, and Dean started to fade out, staring into blank space as the ice helped. He’d have to get off it soon, before the chill sank into his bones, but it felt so nice to have the pain washed away.  
  
To the side, Sam’s uninjured arm twitched, and his eyelids fluttered open. It was a moment before he let out a groan, shifting in place and brushing against the melting ice cube sitting next to him.  
  
The second he heard Sam’s soft groan, Dean jolted, sitting straight up. “Sammy?!” He darted over to his younger brother, his own pains instantly forgotten in lieu of Sam’s.  
  
“Dean?” Sam managed to reply back, his voice just barely audible. His eyes opened, staring right up at Dean. “What… did Bobby…”  
  
Then, he caught sight of Jacob out of the corner of his eye. Sam jerked up, trying to scoot back on the shirt. “Dean!” he yelled out in warning.  
  
Dean caught hold of him before he could get far, and before he could jar his arm. “Sam, you’re okay, I promise! It’s not Bobby, that’s Jacob, remember?” He wrapped his arm around Sam’s side to keep him in place so he couldn’t hurt his arm, while behind him he heard Jacob carefully sitting upright again, slow and steady. “He got us _out_ , and Bobby won’t be bothering anyone again. Not after what he went through.”  
  
Sam’s chest heaved, trying to calm down from the scare. He blinked at the sling around his arm, then back up at Jacob as comprehension started to sink in. “You… you came for us?” Tears were hiding at the corner of his eyes. Jacob had come for them after all, taken them out of that hellish nightmare. “I knew you would. I _knew_ Bobby was lying about you doing whatever he said.”  
  
Jacob’s expression flattened for a second. Of course Bobby thought he was in that much control over Jacob. That was why he hadn’t been worried when Jacob stormed into the house in the first place. “He thought … never mind,” he began, putting the thought aside.  
  
In truth, in all the time he’d known the guy, Jacob was aware that Bobby was an ass. He had simply always thought of him as harmless, even amusing at times. He didn’t care enough to do anything but follow along with whatever he said, because it didn’t have much impact. Jacob never once realized that it was putting dangerous thoughts in Bobby’s head about his role as a “leader.” He enjoyed being in charge just a little too much, and Sam and Dean ended up paying the price. With one or two quick words years ago, Jacob might have been able to head off something like this ever happening.  
  
Hindsight really was 20/20. Jacob couldn’t help the guilt that steadily crept in like a poison vine, despite knowing he couldn’t have predicted this turn.  
  
“Of course I came for you,” Jacob said, setting aside his concerns for now. All that mattered was reassuring them. He smiled faintly. “Good to see you’re awake, Sam. How are you feeling? Other than that arm, I mean…” Jacob’s eyes flickered briefly to the wrappings Dean had so carefully tied around his brother’s arm, tying them up in a sling to keep the healing bone steady.  
  
Sam pulled away from Dean, wincing as the shift in position made his arm hurt again. “No… just the arm. He didn’t really do much…” He prodded his chest, making sure that he wasn’t lying. Dean watched attentively, ready to move the second he saw pain flicker over Sam’s face. “His fist was tight, but he didn’t crush me… and I don’t remember much about the arm breaking, past being dangled in midair. Dean had it rougher before that…”  
  
Dean scoffed. “Hardly. He didn’t hurt me.”  
  
Sam’s eyes were worried. “That’s not what I mean.” He could see Dean’s resistance to Bobby crumpling in his mind, and caving to the human’s demands. Dean was a proud enough man that actions like that would break him a little inside. He looked over Dean, seeing the bruises that crept up from his clothing. “And he made up for lost time, didn’t he?”  
  
For a long, strained moment, Dean refused to meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m fine, Sam,” he said quietly. “I’ll get over it.”  
  
Jacob took a slow breath, his eyes flickering between the two of them. They were both so _hurt._ All in careless movements by someone who refused to acknowledge that, size be damned, they were _people._  
  
At least they were safe now.  
  
Jacob's hands twitched. He let relief wash over him like a slow tide, glad to see his small friends would be able to recover from their physical pains. In time, he hoped they might be able to recover from any emotional ones caused by this incident, too.  
  
In the meantime, Jacob was just glad to see them both sitting up and talking. He paused, then committed to his next action, reaching both of his hands towards them. He was slow and careful as he scooped the brothers onto his hands, watchful every second for signs that he'd hurt or jostled them with his actions.  
  
With Sam and Dean safely in hand, Jacob drew them closer, cupping the pair against his chest in the closest mimic of a hug that he could afford with people smaller than his hand. They were almost hidden from view like that, but Jacob was as gentle as he always tried to be, even if he was breaking the rules about picking them up without permission.  
  
"Sam, Dean, I'm glad you're okay," he began, his tight, murmured voice still rumbling around them. "I'm sorry that I let this happen and ... and I'm gonna do better. I swear."  
  
Despite everything that had happened, it wasn’t scary to see Jacob’s hands come at them. Sam stiffened, but only as a reaction to the memories that he had of Bobby snatching him up and dangling him by an arm. These hands were careful and warm and safe, and freely offered a security that they’d thought was gone for that terrifying time during the day.  
  
It was rather startling to find themselves lightly held against his chest, though. Not once, in all the time since they’d started hunting with Jacob, had he ever done anything like it.  
  
Dean blinked in amazement, then couldn’t quite hold in a smile as he realized what the human was doing, even as the gentle voice rumbled overhead. If they looked up, they could just make out the top of Jacob’s shirt from where they were cupped, and his jaw took up their entire ceiling, eclipsing the outside world.  
  
He was giving them a _hug,_ something they’d always assumed they were too small for.   
  
Jacob was actually careful enough to hold two people, both smaller than his fingers and one of them with a broken bone, in the most all-encompassing hug they’d ever had. Jacob, one of the biggest humans they’d ever seen, and he was as gentle as ever even now. It revealed a key part of his soul to the brothers.  
  
Sam leaned into the hug, slumping against Jacob’s chest with his eyes closed to listen to the steady heart that beat placidly below the surface, working to keep their immense human alive and well.   
  
Dean reached an arm awkwardly above his head, patting Jacob’s chest. “Big softie,” he murmured with a smile. He couldn’t imagine being afraid of Jacob now, not after everything the guy had done for them. The rage he’d seen in Jacob’s eyes earlier would never be for them.  
  
Dean tried to angle his next comment up so Jacob could hopefully hear it way up there. “Didn’t know Godzilla was such a teddy bear,” he joked, inwardly glad for the security the hug gave them.  
  
The soft-spoken quip made Jacob chuckle. After taking a second to make sure no one was leaning on him, he pulled his hands away from his chest without accidentally sending either injured Winchester tumbling over the side. He paused to glance over their weary forms before ferrying them the rest of the way back to the shirt on the desk. They needed to rest someplace comfortable now that the terror of the day had passed. It was time to heal.  
  
"Only sometimes," he joked back. In truth, Jacob was a softie most of the time. The anger he'd displayed in Bobby's house was a rare emotion, one that left him drained.  
  
"So, uh, you guys want anything? After all that some food might do some good. I can grab you a beer, too. Maybe it'll take the edge off."  
  
“That sounds good,” Dean admitted. He and Sam both made their way back onto the bunched-up shirt with stiff movements. Beer would help warm them and let them relax after the last hours, something they needed most of all.  
  
They settled not far from each other, subconsciously afraid to let each other out of sight. Especially after Sam had vanished into the pocket, Dean had been terrified that would be the last he’d see of his little brother. Claimed by a human, stuck in a pocket like an object...  
  
And Bobby offering a _deal_ to separate them…  
  
Dean hid a shudder, glad Sam had missed that part. “Whatever’s easiest for food,” he told Jacob. “I’m not sure I’ll even be able to eat.” His appetite fled at the memory of Bobby's “deal.” Not to mention, he wasn’t keen on Jacob being out of sight long. They were out in the open, and more than ever, that just smacked Dean in the face with how vulnerable they were. He pursed his lips at the thought. “When you get back, knock twice?” he asked, thinking that might help with giving them a warning.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows lifted. "That's a good idea," he replied with a nod, pushing his chair back yet again. He picked up the ice glass he'd brought, thinking a refill would be a good idea in case the brothers needed more ice after their first batch melted. "Be right back."  
  
After he closed his door behind him once again, Jacob noticed that it left him on edge, knowing the two of them were sitting out in the open. They were basically stuck, with Sam's arm in no condition for climbing and Dean's protectiveness of his brother. He'd never leave Sam behind, that much was certain. It was far more likely that Dean would stand up and defend Sam to the end.  
  
Jacob stole a beer from the fridge, thinking that if his stepdad got miffed about it he could deal with that later. He tossed some leftover snack foods onto a small plate, an odd collection of _mezedes_ like the night before, and headed back to them in a hurry.  
  
He was in such a rush to return to keep watch over them that he nearly forgot to knock twice like Dean had asked. After announcing his return, he closed the door soundly and brought the food, glass of ice, and beer back to the desk. "Here we go," he said, shifting a fold in the shirt so he could set the plate closer to the brothers. After what they went through, they wouldn't have to go far to get anything they needed for a little bit. He would make sure of it. They'd earned a break.  
  
"Next time I'll bring you actual dinner food, I promise. Something a little heartier than mezedes and alcohol," Jacob assured them, offering a sheepish smile and trying not to think too much about how battered and bruised the two of them were.  
  
Dean shook his head with a smirk. “This is better than anything we used to eat back in the motel, trust me.” He wouldn’t mind having something heartier later on, but the spread of food that Jacob had provided them on a whim was close to a feast for the Winchesters. Another dissonance between their world and Jacob’s, and a reminder at how lucky they were that they’d found humans like Jacob Andris and Bobby Singer to let them back into that world. “... Thanks.”  
  
Sam went to get up, but Dean put a hand on his arm, switching his attention from Jacob to Sam in an instant. “Just… relax?” he asked, giving Sam his best try at puppy eyes. “You need to keep that arm steady. We only just set it.”  
  
Halfway up, Sam paused. “Okay…” he said slowly, sitting back down. Then got a huge grin as a thought came to him. “Does this mean I get breakfast in bed?” he asked brightly.  
  
Dean gave him a flat look, going over to the plate. He had mercy on Sam, making sure to grab him the cucumbers, cheese and tomato, while for himself he got the sausage and cheese. With Sam out of sorts, he didn’t even make snarky comments about the rabbit food he was eating so much. They had the chance to eat whatever they wanted, and _this_ was what Sam picked?  
  
Placing Sam’s food next to him, Dean settled back down and dug through his bag to make the cups for the beer while he waited for Jacob to pour it.  
  
Jacob twisted the cap off the beer bottle, blowing lightly on the mist that formed in the neck of the dark glass container. He tilted it carefully, surprisingly used to the action after so much time with Sam and Dean.  
  
He set the cap near Dean, seeing him working the foil cups into shape once more. There should be plenty there for several drinks apiece if they so chose to drink that much. It'd probably help to get a little buzz going. If it didn’t soften the pain in their bodies, it might work to place a haze over the pain in their minds. They’d been through too much, more than anyone deserved.  
  
Jacob sighed quietly and set the bottle aside, leaning forward to rest his chin on his crossed arms once again. With such a devastating turn of events, the plan to stay at his family home for just a few days was derailed completely. There was no way he could make himself carry them out of there to some random hotel to try to find a hunt. Not while Sam was out of commission as far as climbing went for however long it took to heal.  
  
"So ... what next?" he asked quietly, looking between the two of them for some sign of a plan. He'd defer to what they wanted to do, since it was they who had a better idea of how long they'd need.  
  
Dean paused in the middle of filling up the cups, a strange expression crossing his face. He shared a glance with Sam, handing off the first beer. He didn’t like what he had planned, but after the events of that afternoon, it didn’t seem like they had a choice anymore.  
  
Without Jacob around, they were _vulnerable_. They couldn’t stay out in the open anymore.  
  
He got his own cup filled and sipped it, letting the warmth fill him up from the inside. “With Sam’s arm out of commission, we can’t risk taking any road trips,” Dean said regretfully. “It’s too easy to get jostled in the car, and even the vibration from driving is twenty times worse at our size. So getting him to Bobby’s is too dangerous.”  
  
He sighed, glancing around the room before looking back up at Jacob. “We saw a place in the walls that I could make into a home just like the one I have back at our old motel,” he let the human know. “It’s out of sight, and it’ll be safe if you’re not around.”   
  
Dean pointed towards the small entrance they’d tracked down, not far from the dresser. “Right through there, probably not three feet along the wall.” His finger trailed along the wall, pausing where he thought the nook was hidden. Despite everything else, he didn’t think twice about letting Jacob know where the hidden home would be. He’d earned their trust tenfold since they’d met, and today sealed that in stone when he stood up for them against one of his old best friends.  
  
Jacob scanned the wall near the floor, trying to pinpoint where the hovel might be. He couldn't see any outward signs on the wall itself to tell him what the layout was within. That was a good thing. If Jacob couldn't see it knowing what to look for, then his mom and stepdad definitely couldn't.  
  
Turning back to Dean and Sam, he offered them a faint smile. He didn't want them to have to hide away so much; it wasn't right or fair that they spent so much of their time in the dark, concealed from everything. But it was necessary for them to be safe.  
  
"That's a good idea," he said, warming to the idea in spite of himself. "That way you'll have your own place whenever we come back here." Jacob had to admit that the thought of someone building an entire home within the walls of _his_ home sounded pretty cool, even if the reasons were unfortunate. "You'll have to let me know if you need any supplies to make that work."  
  
“Oh, trust me,” Dean said with a shadow of his own fleeting smirk back in place, “you’ll hear all about it.”  
  
The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. They would have a base of operations if they needed it. A safe haven to rest in for when Jacob wasn’t around, and a place to stash their stuff.  
  
It wouldn’t be fair to ask Jacob to never come back to visit his family. Sam and Dean would never want to keep him away from his mother and stepfather. They’d lost their mother as children, and their dad was in the wind. They didn’t want to make anyone else feel that separation. Now they’d have a place where they could relax and be themselves when Jacob was with his family.  
  
Dean sipped his beer again as he mulled it over. “Yeah…” he murmured to himself. He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Sam, who was nursing his own drink. Sammy’s arm was held in place across his lap while he sat on the shirt, hopefully healing straight.  
  
“This is the right thing to do.”  
  
**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next story:** A Time To Heal, arriving in the future!
> 
> And we've made it to the end of another Brothers Lost story!
> 
> Sam and Dean had a rough time, but they're back with Jacob, and they have time to recover now. Where their path takes them later, no one knows. More will be coming in the future! Fans of BL, keep an eye out for **A Time To Heal** in the next poll!
> 
> The next story to post will be A World of Secrets, which will start our Brothers Unexpected storyline with a kiddo Sam and a kiddo Jacob!
> 
> Upcoming schedule:
> 
>  _August 11th:_ **There’s No Place Like Home** ends
> 
>  _August 14th:_ The first part of **Aftermath: A Series of Consulted Shorts** posts 
> 
> _August 15th to August 24th:_ Posting hiatus
> 
>  _August 25th:_ **A World of Secrets** begins posting

**Author's Note:**

> They return, and things are looking nice and calm for this set of hunters!
> 
> Be sure to leave a comment if you're enjoying the series!
> 
> **Next:** July 3rd, 2019 at 9pm EST


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